


Beneath The Sun

by panda_shi, sub_textual



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anbu Yamato | Tenzou, Blood and Violence, Break Up, Disturbing Themes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Graphic Description, Heartache, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Killing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multiple Partners, Past Mizuki/Umino Iruka, References to Depression, Rumors, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Triggers, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-04-21 22:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 121,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14294898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual
Summary: Tenzou never had a problem being ANBU, being a nobody -- no emotion, no past and no future. He preferred it. Up until he isn't.Later, Tenzou will realize that his loyalty was a reimbursement for his own inferiority.(Or that story where Tenzou learns what it's like to really want and love someone.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am my own beta. May have missed shit.
> 
> Come say hi @ tumblr: pinkcatharsis

For as long as Tenzou can remember, his duty and obligation has always been to Konoha. He cannot remember an existence beyond that context, for it has been ingrained in him from the moment his eyes opened that he is a tool fashioned to have nothing at all but a name that is not even a name that matters, that he is, like many others like him, is to adopt pride in the nation to which he belongs. It is of the greatest servitude and purpose to defend Konoha and all her faults and follies, tooth and nail, body and soul. His blood belongs to the earth of that of which he is born from, like the deep rooted trees  that towers over Konoha in an endless stretch of green, and the Senju bloodline that courses through his veins. He was born from the tree and thus, that is where he shall return.

It tends to happen to individuals who spend most of their lives confined within glass walls and white tiles, prodded and poked with needles and ashy white hands, the taste of chemicals always bitter and thick at the back of his throat. The taste never faded, nor did the gleam of haunting golden eyes that Tenzou finds out later, had belonged to his maker.

He’s heard it all, speeches that blind, words that are meant to instill loyalty from men and women who dream of wars and send their soldiers to fight and die for them. He has also heard the opposite, where whispers from naive mouths behind hands say that there is no name, no flag that is large enough that can ever cover the shame of killing innocent people in the name of war being fought in the shadows.

Tenzou didn’t care then and he didn’t care now, didn’t care what the politics were like, didn’t think twice about his orders so long as Konoha remains standing. He doesn’t know how many bloodlines he has ended, how many villages and towns he has erased from the face of the map with no one left alive to tell the tale, no one to even whisper on who the monster behind the deed is. He leaves behind nothing but a forest growing on blood soaked earth, bodies hidden under its roots.

Tenzou isn’t like the others; he isn’t even like Sharingan Kakashi, who’s known for the lightning in his hands and the howl of his pack, the holder of over a thousand copied jutsus and the ruthlessness of his hands -- the genius prodigy trained by the fourth Hokage himself, son of the White Fang. Tenzou is a shadow, comfortable in his lack of a name and face, a lack of a self, and everything that humans are supposed to have. Tenzou doesn’t remember how many genocides he has committed, doesn’t lose sleep over the sounds of necks snapping in half or arteries bleeding out, or carrying back dead soldiers to cremate.

Tenzou doesn’t mind it at all -- it’s what he’s made for.

It’s the only thing he knows how to do and how to be.

A cold and calculating killer with no face, no name or reputation.

After all, you can’t break something when there’s nothing to be broken.

*

Sometimes, Tenzou dreams of a girl’s voice, whispering through glass. He doesn’t remember her face, doesn’t even know her name, how tall she might have been, or if she had long hair.

She calls him Tenzou, tells him that is his name.

He’s never sure if she had been real or if she is the result of borne out of the necessity to withstand the laboratory experiments he had gone through, something that stems from pain and hurt, a weak mind, and a weaker will. It didn’t really matter either way -- ROOT made sure that he had no weakness after they found him, that any whisper of a past is erased.

He would have been okay with a number and a codename.

Tenzou sounds better though, she would say in his dreams.

So he kept it even if it didn’t really have any sort of value.

*

Kakashi had been the first chip in his impenetrable armour.

Kakashi shows him that there is more to being a voiceless soldier. That loyalty can also mean having the voice to stand up to the corruption of the governing body that he receives his orders from. Kakashi could have killed him when he brings up Nohara Rin’s name, could have stuck that fistful of lighting in his chest and ended him.

Kakashi doesn’t because Kakashi has put all those mattered to him to the ground and he didn’t want to do it anymore. He didn’t want to kill another comrade, not if he had the choice, anyway. Kakashi chose to save him, told him to run away, avoided killing him and opted to detaining him instead. You’re a shinobi of Konoha, Kakashi says and for a brief moment, perhaps during his first stumble, something about belonging had flared a flame in his chest that Tenzou never knew he even had.

Tenzou will never forget how he had felt in that moment -- conflicted, unsure, _hesistant_ \-- when he could have just taken the Sharingan, sink his clawed gloves right into Kakashi’s eye socket because it’s not like the eye belonged to him.

He makes a different naive choice instead and when he denies ROOT, when the voice that had remained locked in his throat for all these years questions the order, he gets thrown to the darkest detention corners for evaluation and assessment, tied down like he’s no better than a dog ready to be euthanized if need be.

But Kakashi came back for him because Kakashi doesn’t abandon his comrades. Not anymore.

It had gone without saying that Tenzou deserved to be saved from a man like Danzou, to belong to a better unit than that of ROOT; he gets reassigned under the Hokage and under Kakashi’s ANBU team. And for the briefest moment, when Kakashi tells him that he is Tenzou, the only two syllables he owned for himself from a past he doesn’t even remember, Tenzou remembers thinking -- stupidly, _hilariously --_ how this may just be where he belongs. That here, he isn’t just a face.

He had been wrong.

Tenzou may have moved to a different division, may have been uprooted from the ground and brought to the place where the shadows aren’t as inky dark, where they don’t truly live by the belief system that they have no emotion, no past and no future. All they had were their missions and above everything else, the mission takes priority. There may been better understanding between comrades, a physical and primal closeness that makes men and women with pasts and emotions they can’t successfully kill crave touch and company so viscerally, just so that they can come down from the nightmares of genocide and lives bleeding through their fingers. They may joke more, talk more, maybe even feel comfortable enough to take their white masks off and be themselves outside the armor when they step into the sun.

But the truth is, Tenzou didn’t see the difference between taking his orders from Danzou or from Hokage.

Serving under the Hokage didn’t mean less genocide. It certainly didn’t mean fighting a smaller war from the shadows.

Titles, names, emotions, and need beyond biology -- they’re all complicated.

Tenzou had watched his teammates fall apart, one by one like flies dropping until the only ones left standing had been him and Kakashi. Kakashi, who is a legend in strength, intelligence, ability and ruthlessness. Kakashi who doesn’t flinch in the face of his enemies, who stands and gamble and uses wild cards and always completes his missions. Kakashi who doesn’t think twice to rip muscle from bone, to snap necks and carve flesh with lightning.

Hatake Kakashi had been the man Tenzou had craned his neck up towards in aspiration, a goal to reach.

His biggest clue should have been the fact that Kakashi never leaves his comrades behind.

It isn’t till years later, after he falls to his knees and feels Kakashi’s harsh breath against his neck after they had slaughtered every man, woman and child in a small coastal village in the Water Country, when they lose three of their teammates that night, that he catches the raw and almost frantic look in Kakashi’s eye when he had come knocking on his door and forced his mouth upon him when they had just parted ways hours ago after handing in their report -- then, Tenzou realizes, that Kakashi isn’t what he is behind the mask.

That he’s full of bullshit and isn’t emotionless at all.

Kakashi feels _too_ much.

Sometimes, it is overwhelming.

And when Tenzou wakes up on his bed, blood, sweat and cum gone from his body, when he feels Kakashi curled around him, his chest to his back, Tenzou decides that he doesn’t want to be like Kakashi at all.

(He doesn’t even want anything that Kakashi may have, when for the longest time, it’s all he’s ever wanted – name, family, a team, memories, a _past_.)

It looks and sounds far too complicated, to be in control but so out of control like _that._

*

Tenzou thinks it’s better to step away from the complication that is Kakashi, or at least maintain a polite distance and remain the _kouhai_ that he’s grown to be over the years.

Kakashi leaves ANBU eventually even though Kakashi never stops knocking on his door.

And Tenzou didn’t have the heart to keep that door shut -- after all, Kakashi is his senpai and he undersgands him a little too well, knows how to read the minute subtle changes in his expression that speak the truth of the thunderstorm Kakashi keeps buried under his ribcage. Years of fighting together on the same team, training together and finding a comfortable working pattern and building trust does that to a person. Tenzou has he greatest respect or Kakashi, owes him his life on a few occasions.

If Tenzou had to pick someone he can wholly count on an trust to have his back, it’d be no other than his former captain and teammate.

(He may go as far as calling Kakashi a friend.)

So long as Kakashi leaves his complications at the door, so long as Kakashi doesn’t ask him questions, doesn’t push him to do things he’s not comfortable with doing or make him acknowledge the want to be something and belong to somewhere other than Konoha, make him question his existence and past, Tenzou thinks he’s okay with the mutual arrangement.

(The sex is _always_ good.)

“You can always find me, you know?” Kakashi says one night, when Tenzou shifts and wakes up, sucking a slow and measured breath at the brutality and rawness of how Kakashi had fucked him, the sharp pain radiating up his back like a sun burn.

Tenzou hums in acknowledgment but never comes to find him. Not really, anyway.

(Too messy, that Hatake Kakashi.)

Besides, Kakashi’s fucks him often enough that coming to find him was redundant.

There’s almost never a need to; Kakashi gives him more than he’ll ever need.

*

It’s not that Tenzou doesn’t enjoy sex. He actually enjoys it a little too much and he has no problems fucking anyone who is willing. Tenzou actively chooses to avoid intricate entanglements, assessing his partners the way he would a target, and prefers partners who understand silences and discretion with little to no questions in between. Talking, in Tenzou’s opinion, shouldn’t be part of foreplay or even the afterglow. Not when there is a mutual agreement to simply scratch an itch and go their separate ways.

He never bottoms with partners he successfully picks up, not when they’re strangers. There are only a handful of people he’d bottom for and they’re either already long dead with nothing but their names etched on to stone or they’re too busy handling their designated cell team.

There are a few bars in Konoha that are known to be pick-up spots for shinobi, the kind where you approach someone if you’re interested and go home with them -- no nonsense, no fuss, no drama. On nights like tonight, where Tenzou feels tension coiling in his spine, fatigue in his bones and frustration in his bloodstream, after weeks of being in the field, he doesn’t waste time. In the almost always crowded bar where the stench of cigarettes and the sharp smell of alcohol swirl with the sound of murmured conversations, he spots a face he doesn’t remember seeing around before.

He’s sitting by the bar, feet hooked on the leg of his barstool, mid-twenties, about a hundred seventy eight centimeters, a little smaller and narrower in built for a shinobi -- soft, delicate, scar cutting across the bridge of his nose. Tenzou can’t tell from where he sidles up on the stool next to him what his rank is, not without the vest present. Only his standard issue navy uniform betrays that he is shinobi, his forehead protector nowhere in sight. Even his hands are almost too smooth, perceivably delicate looking fingers tracing the rim of his glass, while the other drums against crumbling black paint of the roughened bar top. He’s looking at the television playing a game show that no one is paying attention to, nothing but white noise to drown out the murmurs around the small cramped space.

He’s a lot more attractive up close, and Tenzou  thinks he’d like to have his fingers in that hastily tied up and uneven ponytail, can think of ways to sink into the tight and rigid body that is trying to look as relaxed as possible on the bar stool. The tension visibly pulls this stranger’s neck taut, the furrow between his brows deep and the tendons on the underside of his wrist flexed even when his palm remains unmoving on the bartop. When he turns, Tenzou sees the healing bruise on his temple -- days old from the looks of it.

The word cute comes to mind.

Looking at him this close, as he blinks deep and warm brown eyes, comprehending the silent invitation of Tenzou’s presence, Tenzou can’t deny the slight curl of want coiling in his stomach, slow and nothing more than a whisper of possibilities with that pretty face -- the slight flush that rises on this stranger’s cheek is enough to make the corner of Tenzou’s lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile. The words adorable and inviting also comes to mind, almost as easy as that flush that makes the scar on his nose pale just a little bit.

Tenzou isn’t sure what he finds more amusing. The fact that the flush deepens on this stranger’s cheeks the longer Tenzou stares at him with a slight quirk of his brow, or the fact that the stranger empties the remainder or his glass, and dips his head in what would have been a polite bow and introduces himself as Iruka.

Iruka doesn’t ask him for a name, doesn’t even ask him if he wants a drink, and instead, says, “Your place or mine?”

“Yours,” Tenzou responds, before he can stop himself, long after he recognizes the distant look in Iruka’s eyes. It’s dark, like a cold still lake at night, pupils blow wide and had it not been for the embarrassed and dare he say demure, behaviour, one would have missed it.

Tenzou isn’t like anyone else though -- he’s always looking out for the arduous ones.

“Okay,” Iruka chuckles depreciaringly, and pulls out a few bills from his pocket to leave on the bartop. “I’m about three blocks from here. Are you in a hurry?”

“I can make time,” Tenzou murmurs, standing and pressing his hand on the small of Iruka’s back as they weave their way past the crowd and into the early spring evening. It’s a marking gesture, a sign that he’s staked his claim for the night, so that wandering eyes may avert and questions don’t come their way.

Iruka is a brisk walker, and they end up in the street where the bachelor pads are lined in neat rows, non-descript and nothing too aesthetically pleasing -- gray paint on concrete finishing, aluminum glass windows and yellow lights, four floors high. Iruka lives in one of the corner buildings towards the far end and has a view of the main street and the rows of parked rickshaws. It’s a noisy street, with a laundromat, a bakery and a small convenience store all within the same range. 

And Iruka’s apartment, is one of the smaller units in the bachelor pads -- a studio where the living room area and the bedroom is only separated by a tall bookshelf stuffed with paperbacks, reference books and guides, trinkets that look clumsily made, and a family photograph that is yellowed and singed around the edges. There is only ansinfke three-seater sofa with mismatched cushions and a hastily folded blanket over the armrest, a television and an open kitchen that takes three steps to cross the entire length of it. Tenzou spots clean dishes and bento boxes drying on the rack, and a fridge that is covered with magnets, drawings, cards and a few discount coupons.

Tenzou thinks organised, sentimental, put together with a penchance or occasional laziness.

Tenzou can’t remember a time he had gone home with someone who had this much color in their living quarters. He can smell tea and oranges mixing with something he can’t quite pinpoint along with laundry detergent and kitchen disinfectant. It’s all organized chaos, and warmth and far too much personality.

The stack of papers on the coffee table tells Tenzou that he’s gone home with someone who works at the Academy, possibly an instructor. From where he stands, Tenzou can see the level of questions on the assignment sheets -- Iruka handles the younger kids.

“Can I get you something?” Iruka asks, looking over his shoulder and turning on the corner lamp of his small apartment and switching the main lights off. There’s a slight nervousness to his question, a visible tremble in the fingers that Tenzou reaches up for and pulls it away from the lamp switch, turning it off and bathing the apartment in darkness and the faint white and colored lights flashing through the window.

“Relax,” Tenzou says, stepping into Iruka’s space and boxing him against the shelves. “Anything I should know?”

“I prefer to bottom,” Iruka responds with hesitation, a touch breathlessly. “I’m not opposed to top. It’s just that, for tonight, I’d really just prefer to not think.”

Tenzou hums in acknowledgment, leaning into Iruka and dipping his face against the curve of his neck. He can smell disinfectant, the sharp tang of it far too familiar for him to miss it. He wonders if he faint smell of it has anything to do with the healing bruise on Iruka’s face. “Any injuries I should know about?”

“I’ve been cleared,” Iruka’s answer is soft, the hitch of his breath louder than the words that follow. “I’m better. I don’t want you to be gentle.”

“Oh?” Tenzou leans closer, pressing hands on Iruka’s hips and sliding the fabric of his untucked shirt upwards, pinky fingers brushing against skin where goosebumps breaks in the wake of his touch. He feels the shudder that goes through the entire length of Iruka’s warm body, hears the slight catch of his breath in his throat.

“Is that an issue…?”

Tenzou grins with amusement at the hesitant and politely asked question. “Not at all.”

Iruka doesn’t get to ask more questions because Tenzou’s hands are on his jaw in a firm and borderlining on bruising grip, forcing his mouth open when Tenzou claims that soft and pliant lips in a searing kiss, swallowing the surprised gasp as he tastes something sweet and bitter at the tip of Iruka’s tongue. Tenzou thinks it must have been the alcohol earlier, as he drags the rest of Iruka’s shirt up his torso and breaks the kiss long enough to yank it off his head and cast it aside.

Iruka kisses him with an eagerness and hunger that surprises Tenzou for a few seconds, the shy and almost embarrassed and hesitant teacher from earlier dissolving to nothing but heated skin and stuttered breaths. Tenzou watches the wince tug at Iruka’s face when he reaches up to _yank_ the pony tail off his hair, forcing him to bare the length of his neck to his teeth as he bites down on the tender skin around the hollow of his throat.

It last two seconds, with Tenzou closing his eyes to relish the sound of Iruka’s strangled moans filling the room and coiling around his cock like a fist before he’s wrenching his mouth off that soft throat, grabbing Iruka forward and rounding the corner of the shelf and towards the bed. Iruka falls on his back with a gasp, legs kicking when Tenzou reaches forward and strips him off his pants and underwear in one long tug. He can feel Iruka’s eyes on him, when he unzips his vest and tugs his shirt off, utility pack joining the mess on the floor.

He is quite the looker, this Iruka, how he stares at him with parted lips, the shadows of his eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, shoulders hunched from where he’s gripping the pillows, blue and white and yellow lights from the street signs below dancing over his features, his lips wet and swollen from their kiss.

Tenzou can think of ten other ways to make that face look a lot more beautiful, with those lips wrapped around his cock or that blush crawling down his throat, neck arched and breathless cries shouted at the ceiling. He watches Iruka’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, watches as he casts a glance at the tube of lubricant on the nightstand and then hesitantly part his legs a little bit, the jut of his hard cock resting on smooth and chiseled stomach. Tenzou’s lips curl with amusement at how the precum pools over abdomen, how it collects around the dip of Iruka’s naval, and how there is the slightest of tremor rocking his knees.

Tenzou drops the last of his weapon pouches on the floor, the heat in his abdomen turning to a roar, cock straining in the confines of his pants.

Iruka is quite the spread on his wash worn sheets, hair down framing his flushed face -- Tenzou doesn’t always take the time to admire the person he’s about to fuck but there is something different about the home he’s in, the smell of something sweet and fresh and clean that has nothing to do with sterility and impersonal detachment.

It doesn’t even take more than a firm grip to Iruka’s ankle to yank him down on the bed and towards him, until Tenzou has him sitting at the edge of the bed and has a handful of hair as he unbuttons his pants and takes his cock out, holding it like a silent command in his fist.

There is no hesitation or pause when Iruka wraps his mouth hungrily around the head of his cock, and it takes everything in Tenzou to not roll his eyes back and crane his neck backwards when he sinks into the warmth of Iruka’s hot mouth. The hunger that consumes him is enough to make him blink, to make him focus at the glow of the lights beyond the window as the breath begins to stagger in his lungs. Iruka’s tongue swirls around the head of his cock, tracing a line down and leaving a hot trail of precum and saliva all the way to his balls where his lips wrap around the sensitive flesh, his soft and warm fingers stroking the length of his arousal, tracing veins and ridges and bumps with curiosity that has no place in this kind of arrangement.

It’s a little too intimate— so intimate that it makes Tenzou hiss a long breath out.

It’s those lips, soft and gentle in their nipping, and that look of contentment on Iruka’s face, as if this is the one thing he’s been wanting to do all along, how sucking cock seems to have erased that still and quiet look on his face, flushing it with heat and color and making him look so incredibly alive as his mouth and tongue makes a mess of the precum and saliva all over his chin that gets to him.

Tenzou can’t even remember having someone suck his cock this enthusiastically, not a complete stranger anyway.

It’s that raw and unbridled passion that makes Tenzou moan, deep and throaty and so loud, that it makes the alarms blare in his head, and he is yanking Iruka’s mouth of his cock, fingers fisting in his hair and push the length of his cock into that wide and open, hungry mouth. He watches how Iruka’s cheeks hollow, how he goes with the motion of having his mouth fucked, moans and whimpers silenced by the girth of Tenzou’s arousal sliding down his throat. He watches as Iruka doesn’t even fight it, how he struggles to breathe through his nose and his fingers grip Tenzou’s hips hard enough to bruise. Iruka’s whimpered moans are loud, words that don’t form because it’s pushed down with each snap of Tenzou’s hips, and for a moment, Tenzou finds himself staring at the ceiling, the heat coiling up in his stomach and spreading in his chest as he sighs and thinks that he can come like this, call it an evening and his itch scratch and satisfied.

But then he’s yanking his cock out of that mouth, the salacious slick of flesh and saliva obscene in the silence of silence of apartment, punctuated with Iruka’s cough and struggle for breath. Tenzou shoves him down on the bed, uncaring if he’s rough or if the push had hurt, clambering over him and grabbing the bottle of lube from the bed.

It takes little to flip Iruka over on his stomach, brutal in his man handling when he shoves Iruka’s face down on pillow and forcing his hips up. “Stay like that, don’t move.” Tenzou says, words hoarse and as harsh as the breath that leaves him.

Iruka obeys — surprisingly. Flushed and utterly debauched, breathing loud in the silence of the room and looking at Tenzou with a piercing focus.

He could be a little more gentle, Tenzou thinks, as he slicks his fingers and settles between Iruka’s parted knees, fingers pushing in and slicking Iruka’s entrance with a touch of roughness that isn’t made for men that are soft and with too much personality like Iruka. This kind of preparation is something more suitable in the field, where there are only few minutes in between privacy and breaks and only the shadows to act as cover. Iruka cries out  and almost arches _away_  t the rough stretch, when Tenzou presses two fingers at once, writhes under his grip that Tenzou firmly puts a stop to with a firm and bruising grip on his ass.

the resistance lasts only a second until Tenzou _curls_  his fingers and Iruka just _cries_ out at the ceiling, teeth clenched and bared and shaking under Tenzou’s hold.

Tenzou can’t stop the smirk from tugging at his lips, can’t stop himself either when he dips forward and sinks his teeth against the tender flesh of Iruka’s side — that gets him a loud cry too, muscle under his teeth pulling taut as iruka’s ass clenches around his fingers. Gods, he’s incredibly tight — Iruka can barely hold still, rocking against the two finger that plunges and curl and leaves him him keening like a wanton little thing that is best reserved for those who cater within the red light district.

Three fingers in and barely prepped and Tenzou yanks his fingers out, stroking his cock once and coating it with lube.

“Be quiet,” Tenzou _growls_ , and it’s all the warning Iruka gets when Tenzou pushes into the blindingly tight heat, eyes sliding shut as Iruka takes him all the way in. He doesn’t give Iruka the chance to even adjust or recover because he snaps his hips once and Iruka comes apart.

It’s loud, how their flesh slap against each other, how Iruka’s hands grabs against the window sill, palm flat on the glass and forehead pressing against the low headboard, rocking with the brutal motions of Tenzou fucking him so brutally. Tenzou watches the flex of his back, watches how Iruka grabs for purchase, how the sounds roll off his tongue despite being told to be quiet. He watches how Iruka’s body rocks with the sharp snap of his hips, how Iruka _grinds_ his teeth and breaths through them when Tenzou rolls his hips forward and how Iruka’s _gasps_ , mouth falling open and lungs heaving when Tenzou pulls out of him, just long enough to flip him over and push his knees up to his shoulders and sink into him again.

Iruka is a mess beneath him, legs spread and hands clawing at his shoulders for purchase, as Tenzou fucks him until he can’t think. Fucks him until he forgets what coherency can even mean, and the words harder, faster, oh gods, and fuck, you’re so good, dissolves to nothing but garbled syllables and Iruka comes undone like a knot unravelling. He comes like he’s being fucked by someone he knows, that Tenzou isn’t quite the stranger that he is with how open Iruka is when he cries out, chest expanding and lips parting in a cry that tapers off to a strangled moan, eyes scrunched shut and lips trembling.

Tenzou watches all this and pounds into him harder, thinks it’s quite beautiful how this stranger comes like he Tenzou’s cock is a familiar, something he’s had in his body before this. Tenzou watches all this happen beneath him as he leans forward against the back of Iruka’s thighs and grinds into him, gritting his teeth and hearing himself growl, unable to stop the sound from leaving his throat, until he’s coming and spilling into Iruka’s  beautifully tight body too, head ducking as he bites his lower lip and swallows the rest of the moan, refusing to make another sound out of habit.

The orgasm washes over him, powerful and strong as the heat of his cum spills when he pulls out of Iruka with a lurid sound, leaving Iruka gasping at the ceiling and limbs slumping on the bed bonelessly when Tenzou rolls over.

It’s a quick fuck, nothing more than ten minutes or fifteen at most. Tenzou can feel the need in his blood slow to a mild hush, calmer and no longer the storm it had once been. It’s always like this after a good fuck and Iruka’s body, if anything, is quite the good fuck that it is.

“Hey,” Iruka says, soft and hesitant as he carefully rolls over to his side, propping himself up on a shaky arm. “Are you done?”

“I’ll go in a minute,” Tenzou murmurs, eyes still closed as he inhales the smell of warm skin and laundry detergent -- it’s so ridiculously homey. 

(It is also stupidly distracting.)

“No, I mean, if you’re done and that’s it, I understand.” Iruka sounds hesitant, and it is that hesitation that makes Tenzou crack an eye open at him, taking in the flushed face, the drying saliva and precum glistening on his chin. “I’m not opposed to another round.”

Tenzou turns to look at him fully with intrigue and curiosity he had not expected, something _curling_ in his abdomen as he carefully sits up and leans against the bedframe, right under the window. “Is that so?”

“If you can get it up,” Iruka grins. It’s incredibly cute, dimpled and cheeky.

The hunger darkening Irukas’s eyes is what makes Tenzou realize that there is no way he can say no to something so attractive and wanting. 

So he doesn’t, and tugs Iruka over him for a kiss.

 

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Iruka falls asleep just a little before dawn breaks, curled on the bed and bruises and bitemarks mapped all over his body, cum drying on his skin and the sheets. 

Tenzou finds himself staring at the fresh scar on his back — large and wide and right between the shoulder blades, hideously jagged on the expanse of smooth skin. Iruka had shivered when Tenzou’s  tongue pressed against the smooth tissue, had flushed deeper and keened when Tenzou nipped at it with his teeth, though Tenzou thought that might have had something to do with the fact that he was grinding his cock into Iruka when he did that.

It’s hard to tell with Iruka, especially when he’s just enjoying himself so much, letting go of control and his inhibitions in a way no ninja ever should. Not with a complete stranger, anyway.

(Or so Tenzou thinks.)

Now Iruka sleeps with his back exposed to a complete stranger, uncaring and unguarded, beautifully sated, breaths deep. There’s a certain level of misplaced trust which makes something in Tenzou’s gut twitch in discomfort. He would never dare fall asleep with a stranger like this, so openly and vulnerable, naked with no weapon in sight or in reach.

Tenzou doesn’t think he’s slept with a stranger who has gone to sleep like this —uncaringly, caution tossed to the wind. It’s enough to make him watch Iruka breathe through parted lips, as the sun begins to rise and splashes light gold over skin and bruises.

Iruka doesn’t even stir when when Tenzou stands, doesn’t even twitch when he enters the connecting bathroom and turns on bitingly cold water. He remains unmoving and fast asleep when Tenzou dresses and folds the rest of their discarded clothes over the worn reading chair by the bed.

Cool fingers fingers brush against the curve of Iruka’s shoulder as he tugs the covers up —  Tenzou isn’t even sure why he’s bothering to tuck this stranger in. It elicits a small frown and a small throaty noise of complaint, Iruka burrowing deeper into the warmth of his pillow but otherwise remaining asleep as Tenzou stares at his face, slowly pushing back a strand of his hair with a touch that surprises him in its gentleness.

It’s a little amusing — hilarious, really — how ridiculously unshinobi like Iruka is.

Then again, judging from the apartment, and the shade of his vest hanging by the closet door handle that Tenzou can now clearly  _ see _ , a chuunin of Iruka’s caliber who works at the Academy is probably confined within the village proper all the time. He isn’t used to sleeping quietly and on guard, ready to snap awake at half a second’s notice.

Tenzou shakes his head a bit when Iruka shifts in his sleep again, and doesn’t look back when he shows himself out.

He doesn’t leave a note, or a trace that he’s even been in the apartment; the bruises on Iruka’s body will fade and with time, so will the memory of this encounter.

That much, Tenzou is sure of. He doesn’t intend to see him again and doubts they’ll cross paths.

  
*

Loss and devastation hits Konoha like a sweeping tidal wave that leaves her open and leaderless, destruction stretching for miles, and casualties flooding the hospitals. Sandaime isn’t the only the death the village mourns, when countless other brave men and women join him under the ground. Tenzou watches with a helplessness and stoic detachment from the shadows of the trees as the funeral concludes, countless flowers laid down as people pay their last respects.

Tenzou isn’t even sure what to feel; Sandaime had been a firm and intelligent leader, considerate and regarded the village as family. But Tenzou knows the ruthless and calculated decisions he had to make, too. He had been there to execute orders from the shadows, had carried out missions and kept secrets for him out of servitude and loyalty to Konoha and her safety.

Watching the white blossoms wilt under the fall of rain, listening to the barely suppressed sobs of Sandaime’s grandson break the pin drop silence —Tenzou can feel nothing but a sense of disappointment. There may have been nothing he could do once Orochimaru’s barrier had gone up but watch, like the countless ANBU units surrounding the perimeter, as Sandaime took on his former student, as well as the revived Shodaime and Nidaime Hokage. He remembers how the hairs on his body had stood on end, when Sandaime had executed Shiki Fujin and the shinigami had looked down upon them all, towering and all consuming in its power.

(At night, when he closes his eyes, Tenzou remembers watching Orochimaru, the man responsible for his abilities. He should be angry, bitter at the very least. Instead, there is nothing but a yawning abyss under his ribs, and a part of him wonders if that’s a good thing.)

Tenzou had watched Sandaime die and there’s not a damn thing he could have done.

He had been the one to carry his body in the end, a heavy weight that made his arms tremble, even though in his resting moment, Sarutobi looked small and frail, broken and so, so, old.

The boy’s sobs softens, suddenly muffled in the rain, the change in the flow of sound making Tenzou look up and and notice a familiar face he hasn’t seen in  _ months _ . Iruka has Konohamaru in his arms, a hand on the back of his head as he holds him tight in his grief. In the sea of funeral blacks, it would have been easy to miss someone like Iruka. Except he stands out brighter than the rest, the only one kneeling on the ground by a child who can barely keep himself together, decorum and ninja rules be damned, a pinch between his brows, silent grief painted all over his face.

Tenzou doesn’t realize how he spends the rest of the afternoon watching him, even long after the rain stops and Iruka makes sure that Konohamaru is okay and the crowd begins to disperse.

Iruka is the last to leave.

And all Tenzou can do is follow him with his gaze from behind a porcelain mask and a dark cloak, staring at his receding back as he disappears down the steps and into the crowd below.

  
*

A brief pause in his patrolling duty has Tenzou walking down the streets of Konoha and ducking under the noren curtain of a frequented and usually busy izakaya; tonight, it is empty, occupied by only a few patrons, a hush sweeping through the cozy confines. Tenzou doesn’t dawdle much, having only a few hours to spare before he needs to put the uniform back on, and resume patrol duties, because if anything, this is the best time for enemies to attack Konoha. Attempts to steal crucial information have already been made by those that had dared, and with no Hokage manning the village, Konoha can’t afford anymore incidences.

He had not expected to run into anyone he knows on that street, certainly not Iruka who looks just as stunned from where he had ducked out of a ramen establishment. Tenzou realizes that Iruka hasn’t even changed since the funeral, likely didn’t even go home, the smell of dried rain on his clothes and his ponytail hanging low around the nape of his neck. His eyes are puffy around the edges, funeral attire rumpled and shoulders slumped with the weight of grief, a slight daze mirrored in his eyes.

Iruka stands there, staring at him with wide eyed recognition, before he swallows and ducks his head politely, lips parting in a soft greeting and apologizing for bumping into him so carelessly.

“Were you hurt during…?” Iruka’s voice tapers off, the question left open as his gaze sweeps over the length of Tenzou’s body, trying to gauge for injuries under the dark blue uniform and faceplate.

“No,” Tenzou says, shaking his head. “Were you?”

Iruka shakes his head. “I wasn’t in the arena premises —we evacuated the children to the stronghold in the mountains when the summon…”

“Ah,” Tenzou doesn’t realize how he’s been holding his breath, up until he exhales and feels tension leave his shoulders. “I see.”

The smile doesn’t quite form on Iruka’s lips but he flushes a darker red, before saying, “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you’re alright and unhurt.”

“Likewise, Iruka-sensei,” Tenzou says and watches the flush spread over the tips of his ears.

“I won’t take up more of your time. Please take care of yourself.” Iruka dips head politely and keeps his gaze lowered as he sidesteps around Tenzou to walk in the opposite direction.

Tenzou turns to watch him go, gaze lingering on his receding back as he disappears down the road and into the crowd. Tenzou doesn’t realize how long he stands there for, following Iruka with his gaze -- he doesn’t think much of it.

He is sure that he won’t see Iruka again.

In terms of duty, they are worlds apart. The chances are incredibly slim.

  
*

Konoha will heal.

Tenzou knows that the test of her people comes not in how many tears they shed under the sheets of rain falling, but in how they act after they have dried.

But Konoha isn’t strong yet after a devastating loss, so when Akatsuki strolls past their shambled gates, they take with them a few and cripple Kakashi within less than forty-eight hours of Orochimaru’s attack.

Tenzou stands by Kakashi’s bed, staring at his unmoving body and leaves with what feels like a sneer under the mask, something tight and dark coiling in his chest. Chasing after a shadow without orders would be considered treason. Attempting anything foolish when he’s disappointed that one of their best had been put down so easily is only asking for trouble.

There is nothing he can do.

So Tenzou focuses on rebuilding Konoha’s walls — help, he had heard, is on the way.

*

Help doesn’t come soon enough and by the time a good portion of Konoha’s walls are erected and temporary shelters built into place, Tenzou begins to feel the telltale burn of chakra exhaustion coursing through his veins like a fever. He is drained and worn, limbs starting to weigh as heavy as lead, when he falls asleep for a few hours only to wake up feeling restless and unable to keep still.

This is why he finds himself sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, keeping a wary gaze at the establishment that isn’t as crowded as it usually is. Every able bodied shinobi has been dispatched on missions to maintain a strong front, even when their forces are barely over half in number after the attack. Tenzou would have opted for a civilian, someone tender and softer around the edges, someone to hold for a few minutes, satisfy his biological need for connection however brief and unreal before he throws himself back into duty.

(It’s physical – it’s never personal.)

But there isn’t a soul insight that ensnares his interest, and those present are already otherwise engaged. He makes a decision to finish his drink, and begins to formulate a training plan to execute. It should be enough to work out the frustration and helplessness that feels like a tight collar around his neck, unable to leave, unable to chase down those responsible for bringing Konoha to her knees and putting Kakashi in a coma. He had different orders, after all. Konoha’s integrity as a shinobi village is far more important that anyone’s thirst for righteous revenge.

And when another half an hour goes with no one piquing his interest, Tenzou stands, paying for his drink and turns to leave only to come face to face with Iruka, hand poised to push the door open, surprise all over his face.

“Good evening,” he says, surprise segueing to soft amusement, mirth crinkling the corners of eyes that are still lined with puffy dark circles. It does nothing to dampen the cute factor, Tenzou realizes. “Another coincidence, hmm?”

“No such thing as a coincidence,”  Iruka huffs in equal amusement, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What are you here for?”

“Same reason anyone would come  _ here _ , except I don’t plan to leave empty handed. No one has caught your interest?” Like him, Iruka isn’t in his full uniform and has forgone the vest.

There’s a visible dimple when Iruka’s smile tugs a little wider, a touch more open than the polite (and cheeky, and teasingly raunchy, and definitely several variations of debauched) smiles Tenzou has seen. 

And Tenzou stares at him for a long while, suddenly weighing his options as his gaze brushes over Iruka’s body like a lazy stroke. His gaze follows how the chuunin’s cheeks dust with a soft red, how he rubs the back of his head and shuffles where he stands, unsure of what to do with himself, gaze darting to the view of the bar from the ajar door and the street. Iruka is nervous, Tenzou realizes, with how he presses his lips together, how he blinks a little more, how his hands fidget just the tiniest bit, that Iruka then shoves into his pockets. Tenzou thinks Iruka shouldn’t have a reason to be nervous, not when Iruka has had Tenzou’s cock so deep in his throat and ass, and certainly not when Iruka had mindlessly  _ begged _ for it. There’s not an inch of that lean, slender body that Tenzou hasn’t touched, not a layer of skin he hasn’t bruised with his mouth and fingers.

The flush deepens on Iruka’s cheeks, as he takes a step towards the door, possibly an attempt to end this encounter that’s making him uncomfortable.

Tenzou has no clue how he manages to behave rather prudish. Iruka is acting like a virgin on their wedding night, behaving like Tenzou doesn’t know how nasty that mouth of his truly is.

“Something just did,” Tenzou responds, and watches brown eyes widen, caught off guard. “Your place?”

Iruka visibly hesitates, and takes a step back, releasing the hold he had on the bar’s door as it clicks shut. “Well, if you’re not in a hurry…” 

“I am,” Tenzou admits, and steps into Iruka’s space, boxing him against the door as a hand curls around his hip and he tugs him close. “Let’s go.”

It’s all the warning Iruka gets when Tenzou shunshins the both of them three blocks away and right in front of Iruka’s doorstep. An impatient hunger suddenly ignites in his chest, licking fire in his veins when he sees the look in Iruka’s eyes – surprised, lustblown, flush darker, as he turns and fumbles shakily with his keys, fingers unsteady. Tenzou can’t stop himself from pressing the grin against Iruka’s neck, inhaling the sweet scent of oranges and that particular spice that he can’t quite name, something incredibly warm and homey – he can taste summer under his tongue, as he licks a line under Iruka’s ear, feeling that body shiver in his arms as the lock turns and the door is pushed open.

Iruka doesn’t fight him when Tenzou bodily picks him up and slams him up against the door, crushing their mouths together and pushing his tongue into Iruka’s mouth, refamiliarizing himself with something he hasn’t touched in months. Tenzou knows he shouldn’t be touching Iruka again, that he’s going against his nature by sleeping with him a second time. The warning is shoved to the back of his head when Iruka makes a throaty noise of protest, fingers scrambling for the lock. The moment Tenzou hears it click into place, he sinks his teeth into those incredibly soft lips, swallowing the throaty cry that tears past Iruka’s throat.

Tenzou can’t stop the grin from splitting his face at that. He had enjoyed Iruka’s responses the first time – apparently, that hasn’t changed one bit. There’s something in the way he arches into Tenzou’s touch, the way he shudders under his tongue, the way he grits his teeth when Tenzou  _ grips _ him hard, pins his wrists above his head as he devours that mouth, chasing after something that tastes syrupy sweet – candy, Tenzou thinks. 

Iruka doesn’t fight him when Tenzou starts to divest him of his clothing, doesn’t push him away when Tenzou roughly yanks the ponytail free, a strong whiff of oranges filling his nose as the taste of copper coats the tip of his tongue. He breaks the kiss long enough to yank the shirt off, and takes a second to look at Iruka, leaning against the door, a wrist pinned to the door, and beautifully breathless. There’s a glassy look in his eyes and something a little bright, a little more alive than what Tenzou remembers from that day after the funeral. Iruka’s lungs are heaving, shoulders slightly hunched as he leans heavily against the door, cock hard under his pants, flushed all the way down to his stomach. 

He’s smaller, Tenzou notices, collar bones jutting out a little more sharply than what he remembers from months ago, grief carved under his skin. Tenzou is surprised that he even remembers what Iruka looked like to begin with and the thought is promptly put on the back burner when Iruka starts to sink to his knees, tugging his wrist free from Tenzou’s firm grip. He watches Iruka undo his pants, pressing a palm against the door as he reaches down to card fingers into incredibly soft, thick hair. They fall smooth through his fingers, like threads of silk, fascinating and beautiful. And when Iruka’s mouth parts for his half-hard cock, Tenzou feels the fire in him roar when he realizes that having Iruka’s hair wrapped around his fist is about as beautiful as watching the strands fall between his fingers.

It’s so easy to forget what he’s doing, mind clouding as Tenzou drowns himself in the heat of Iruka’s mouth, palm fisting against the door as Iruka’s tongue presses flat on the underside of his cock, lurid slurping noises of saliva and precum punctuating the silence. Iruka hums around the rock hard flesh in his mouth, eyes closed and the corners of his lips turned up in what looks like a loose smile. Tenzou doesn’t realize how he’s watching Iruka suck him off, how Iruka leans his head back against the grain of the wood, shoulder blades digging into the door, his fingers stroking long and quick as he  _ fucks _ Tenzou with his mouth, how uncaring Iruka is that he’s making a mess around his chin, as clear, hot precum and saliva drips down his chest, uncaring how scandalous he sounds, like he  _ enjoys _ Tenzou’s cock. Tenzou can see the pleasure all over Iruka’s face, no denying the fact that he’s content with being on his knees, mouth wide open, and lashes wet as he takes Tenzou’s cock all the way down, shuddering and fisting a hand into the fabric of Tenzou’s pants, knuckles bone white.

The fire in Tenzou’s chest explodes as he sucks in a broken breath, watching this man with too much of a personality enjoy having the flesh of a stranger in his mouth, how he briefly looks up at him through lowered lashes and has the audacity to smile as the tip of Tenzou’s cock tickles that wonderfully tight throat, all full-mouthed and flushed cheeks, chest heaving with breath he can’t catch,  _ moaning _ around his cock – it’s absolutely  _ filthy _ .

Tenzou suddenly has him by the hair, ripping him off his flesh and pulling him to his feet, watching as Iruka flinches and laughs, half his face twisting under Tenzou’s brutal grip. “What? You looked like you were enjoying it~”

Too much personality. Too brazen, too impertinent with that dirty, little mouth of his – all wrapped under this deceiving look of innocence and proper social mannerisms.

Tenzou can’t stop the sound from ripping past his throat which is half growl and half sharp exhale, when he sticks a hand into his utility pouch and pulls out a small tube of lube. “You talk too much,” Tenzou points out, pushing Iruka’s pants down slightly sharper hipbones than he remembers and sinking his teeth into Iruka’s throat. 

The laughter that rumbles past the chuunin’s throat tapers off to a lewd whimper, when Tenzou leaves bruises and deep bite marks that will itch for days, just as Iruka kicks his pants off. “It’s called foreplay, serious-face.”

“Foreplay?” Tenzou chuckles, dragging Iruka with him on the couch, pulling him flush against his abdomen, popping the lube cap open with a thumb, smearing a good amount between his fingers. Iruka adjusts himself on his lap, straddling him comfortably as deceivingly delicate fingers carefully push Tenzou’s faceplate off. “Why ruin your meal with unnecessary appetisers when the main course is a lot more appealing?” 

“Wow, does that line really  _ work _ for you?” Iruka laughs, head thrown back in unabashed mirth. 

It’s quite a nice look on him —  the laughing.

It doesn’t last long.

Not when Tenzou’s fingers breach the tight muscular ring of his ass, and the laugh tapers to something breathless, Iruka’s head rolling bonelessly to the side, breath catching in his throat, something soft and incredibly beautiful trembling past bruised lips.

Tenzou can’t take his eyes off the man in his arms, watching with an intense focus at the subtle changes in Iruka’s body – how words and thought stutter somewhere in his throat, or how he swallows after each chase for breath, his fingers digging into the flesh between Tenzou’s neck and shoulders. And when the second finger goes in, Iruka  _ keens _ , teeth clamping down on his lower lip, breaking the already delicate skin further, staining swollen lips a dark crimson. Iruka is a shivering mess by then, and doesn’t hold himself back when he cries out from the  _ curl _ of Tenzou’s fingers, rolls his hips when a third finger presses in and doesn’t even say a damn thing when Tenzou pulls his fingers away and pushes into the heat of that beautiful — incredibly tight — body, his cock twitching and dripping with precum as he takes in every bit of Tenzou’s cock greedily, a tremble crawling up the length of his spread thighs, fingers curled and fisted into  Tenzou’s hair.

It’s a blissful, slow burn, exactly the kind that Tenzou has been itching for. Somewhere in the back of Tenzou’s mind, he thinks that if Iruka had known his name, when those syllables spill from those lips, parted and panting, choking around it, it may just sound like it had weight to its identity.

(It may even feel a little more real.)

Iruka is a panting mess once he’s fully seated on Tenzou’s cock, eyes glazed over and breathless. It is Tenzou who laughs this time, Tenzou who dissolves into chuckles as he tugs his own shirt off and curls a hand around the globe of Iruka’s ass, squeezing firm muscle in his palms as he leans forward to press his lips against Iruka’s ear. 

“Works every single time,” he says, voice dark and rough. “Now, move.” 

Tenzou grunts when Iruka complies, rolling his hips and riding him, turning into an absolute wanton mess of broken syllables, breathless moans, and throaty whimpers. Tenzou can’t help but lean back as he pounds into his body, hips jerking as his grip bruises the curves of Iruka’s ass, spreading flesh wider, watching how his cock disappears into the beautiful body before him, loving every jerk, every breathless shudder his cock forces out from parted lips, every slap of his balls against flesh, and how Iruka’s hard cock sways and rubs against his belly. He loses himself in the fire that is Iruka, tastes sweat under his tongue when he licks a slow line up Iruka’s throat and collarbone, marks skin with his teeth and leaves burning trails of passion all over him, as Iruka’s voice goes an octave higher, his arms tightening around Tenzou’s shoulders. 

It’s as rough as the first time they had fallen into bed together.

And Iruka comes with a shuddering cry, thick rivulets of white, hot cum splattering between them, the heat of it a pleasant burn on Tenzou’s skin. He’s incredibly beautiful when he comes, when he throws his head back and cries at the ceiling until his voice turns into a hoarse  gravel in his throat. Tenzou forgets what patience and control means as he burns in the wake of Iruka’s climax, hips jerking roughly as he pushes through the convulsing tight heat and he comes with a sharp inhale and broken exhale all at once, completely uncaring when Iruka  _ moans _ at the tight grip Tenzou has on his ass and hip, silent in his climax as he always is. 

Tenzou doesn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he opens them and finds himself staring at the ceiling, Iruka slumped against his chest and head pressing against his shoulder, cum slathered between them and smearing on Tenzou’s pants. 

The restlessness is gone, not a trace of it coursing in Tenzou’s veins, so it’s okay now, to close his eyes for a moment longer, as the ground seems to feel a little more solid under his feet.  


*   
  


Iruka’s fingers are a little dry around the tips, but otherwise smooth in their strokes as he traces the line of the swirling red tattoo on Tenzou’s left bicep. Tenzou’s spent cock is still deep within Iruka’s body, cum still hot and slowly dribbling out and making a mess on the fabric of his pants. Iruka has made no movements to move away, has remained still, save for his slow breathing and gentle strokes of his fingers. 

“This explains why you’re not familiar,” Iruka murmurs, a quiet admission.

“Oh? Did you miss me?”

“Please don’t flatter yourself.” Iruka snorts, but his fingers doesn’t pause in their strokes. “I work the mission desk in the evenings; you tend to know almost everyone when you man the desk. We don’t process ANBU missions.”

We don’t see active field ANBU, Iruka doesn’t say, but Tenzou hears it all the same.

He hums in response as he tucks that piece of information away, his thumb brushing lazy circles over Iruka’s bruised hips. He’d have marks the size of Tenzou’s fingers in a day that will color a nasty purple, possibly smudged with a bit of yellow. Tenzou didn’t bother to hold back when he should have, and Iruka didn’t try to stop him.

“Were you there?” Iruka asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Sandaime…”

No, comes to mind in less than half a heartbeat. It’s the kind of answer a stranger deserves, except it’s hard to call Iruka a stranger now when he knows his rank, his occupation in the hierarchy of the village, and the fact that this is the second time he’s willingly engaging with him in a fuckfest. Tenzou can easily lie, it comes as second nature given his profession, to hide and conceal, be a nobody.

“He fought well,” Tenzou says instead, answering without really answering. The fingers tracing his bicep pauses for a few seconds, but then resumes their lazy strokes. “You knew him well?”

“I looked up to him. To me, he wasn’t just the Hokage, he was family and a kind of mentor. A professor when it comes to sharing knowledge, something he never denied me, and something he’s always made time for to share.” Iruka’s finger stop, lifting for a moment, replaced by the warm press of his palm over the tattoo.

“You miss him,” Tenzou murmurs, watching the shadows and colored street lights reflection dance  on the ceiling.

“I do,” Iruka, something quiet pressing into the syllables. Vulnerable, too soft. 

Tenzou’s palms carefully flatten on bruised hips, as he debates ending this in that very moment. Emotional and broken, he didn’t need more of those. If he had wanted someone broken to fuck, he would have waited for Kakashi to wake the hell up from whatever jutsu Itachi had hit him with. If Tenzou has wanted broken, he wouldn’t have had to look beyond Kakashi. He would have gone and knocked on his door all those years, would have made full use of that invitation and then he’d have a lifetime supply of emotional baggage to deal with — he wouldn’t have to look elsewhere. He wouldn’t have to look for strangers, wouldn’t have agreed to come home with Iruka the second time if he had known he’d get weepy on him in between. Tenzou knows that humans have the ability to hold so much darkness under their ribs, knows that sometimes, it might spill out, dull the light in their eyes, make them jerk awake at night with a silent scream. He knows that nobody is essentially  _ good _ , that even saints are corrupt because he’s slaughtered many for their crimes against humanity, their hidden agendas against Konoha. That being  _ good _ is a matter of perspective. 

There is only loyalty and orders, and somewhere in between, you hope for the best for your people.

Tenzou decides then that it’s time to go.

Before he can push Iruka away, Iruka shifts and pulls back, looking down at him with a gleam in his eye and rolling his hips forward in a way that makes a groan catch in Tenzou’s throat.

“Hey, let’s go another round. I want to feel you get hard while you’re in me.” Iruka grinds his hips down again, and this time, Tenzou grips him hard enough to keep him in one place.

“Seriously?” Tenzou cocks an eyebrow, keeping a steady hand on Iruka’s hips. It doesn’t stop Iruka form grinding  _ down _ , and Tenzou is helpless when he sucks in a slow, deep inhale through his nose. 

“Don’t tell me you’re being  _ shy _ . You certainly weren’t earlier,” Iruka pauses, and then grins. “Or the last time.” 

“You’re calling  _ me _ shy?” Tenzou loosens his hold just a fraction and jerks Iruka forward, just as shuddered gasp rolls past Iruka’s impudent lips. “You were the one acting like a blushing thing earlier, all shy, and polite in the streets, when you’ve got a filthier mouth than a whore in a brothel.”

Iruka rolls his eyes and exhales exasperatedly. Tenzou can’t help but grin at that. “Goodness, don’t tell me you’re like my kids’ parents, who think that just because we instructors handle children, we blush like a virgin at the thought of anything that goes on between the sheets. And that when we do fuck, we certainly don’t stray beyond the missionary position.”

“There is really nothing remotely  _ virgin _ about you, Iruka-sensei.” Tenzou’s grin is fuller, amusement blossoming in his lungs as he chuckles. “Not one bit.”

“Great. Now that we’ve got that out of the way, hurry up and get hard already, ANBU-san.” Iruka rolls his hips forward again, brushing fingers over the quirked eyebrows. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I have a name to put on that handsome face. You’ll have to deal with ANBU-san.” And just to prove a point, Iruka sucks in a deep breath and lets out the most obscene and orchestrated  _ groan _ that goes straight to Tenzou’s cock. “ _ Ahhh _ ,  _ ANBU-san, _ ” Iruka says, throwing his neck back, “fuck me harder.  _ Harder _ .”

“Stop it,” Tenzou says, lungs trembling with a suppressed and caught off guard laugh.

“Don’t stop,  _ ahhh, ANBU-san _ ,” Iruka continues and Tenzou can’t help it.

He bursts out laughing, low and soft, the back of his hand coming up to press against his lips as his shoulders shake, eyes crinkling as he watches the man on his lap roll that ridiculous title between his lips, how he flutters his eyelids in more of an exaggerated attempt at being seductive, rather than anything. It does nothing to stir the desire in Tenzou’s belly, does nothing to harden his cock, but fuels the laughter bubbling in his chest. The soft moans however, incite a slow and curling burn in his veins. 

“Not helping your cause there, Iruka-sensei,” Tenzou chuckles, slowly dissolving to a quiet grin when Iruka’s hands cups his cheeks and he slants his mouth over his, brushing a tongue over the curve of his lips. “This though, you may continue.”

“Fuck, you’re  _ hot _ ,” Iruka murmurs and then he’s devouring Tenzou’s mouth, wrapping arms around his shoulders and working a hand through his hair. 

Tenzou allows his eyes to slide shut, allows himself to get lost in the heat of Iruka’s mouth for just a moment longer, chasing after his tongue, tracing the scar on his back with his fingers, his touch eliciting the most exquisite shudders. His cock stirs when Iruka’s breath hitches, and Tenzou swallows the moan that shudders out of him when he wraps a fist around Iruka’s already half hard cock.

“You’re unbelievable. Repressed, much?” Tenzou grins, stroking the cock in his hand into full hardness, precum slicking the thick flesh in his palms.

“Me? No.” Iruka laughs, and keens a little when Tenzou squeezes, just so. “I get around. It’s too bad I don’t see you often. I am a big,  _ big _ fan of your cock, ANBU-san. I wouldn’t bother with anyone else if I saw you at the Silver Swan.” 

“I’m glad to be of service, then,” Tenzou snorts, lips pulling back to a grin he doesn’t realize he’s wearing. “Just my cock, though?”

“I’m also a big fan of your hands and now, your smile. Excellent material for masturbating in the morning.” Iruka shrugs. “Thanks.”

“Wow.” Tenzou  _ laughs _ , watching Iruka’s face split into a grin as leans forward and licks the corner of Tenzou’s mouth. “I feel so used.”

“Oh wasn’t that supposed to be the point? Us using each other?” Iruka rolls his hips forward again, and Tenzou has to take a measured inhale as the words roll over him and sink somewhere at the bottom of his stomach; a part of him realizes what a convenience that just might be. Iruka is always in the village, his occupation limits his absence. No sooner does the logic and idea registers, Tenzou pushes it aside as nothing more than at option, at most. “Next time you need someone to fuck, come find me. Like I said, I’m a fan. And it’ll spare me the effort and trouble of finding someone to fuck or get fucked by.” 

“Well, now you’re just being lazy.” Tenzou adjusts himself on the couch, sliding down a little bit as he cock starts to get heavy, watching Iruka shiver, fingers digging into Tenzou’s shoulders. Watching Iruka feel him get hard is incredible, how the heat crawls down his neck and his lower lip tremble with each inhale. 

“Gods, you feel incredible,” Iruka  _ groans _ , eyes sliding shut, teeth sinking down over his lower lip as he ducks his head and shudders when Tenzou rolls his hips. “Come on,  _ use me _ .”

Tenzou carefully leans forward to press a hand on Iruka’s neck, fingers going around the warm column. If he’s going to fuck him again, he doesn’t want a buzzkill with something as stupid as ANBU-san rolling past Iruka’s lips when he comes. Just thinking about is enough to make Tenzou want to chuckle again. 

“You’re too open,” Tenzou murmurs, a quiet warning.

“ _ Ahh _ \--” Iruka looks dazed, and eyes glassy when he looks at Tenzou, trying to understand what those syllables mean.

“You should be careful who you make offers to like that,” Tenzou says, and watches as Iruka’s eyes go wide when he squeezes his throat, choking off the air as he snaps his hips forward. 

And when Tenzou releases Iruka’s throat, and he sucks in breath after breath, riding the furious snap of Tenzou’s hips, and brutal and unforgiving pound of his cock, when his eyes roll back and his eyelids slide shut and the titillating sounds of his pleasure bounces off the walls, he comes with a  _ cry _ , long and keening, that Tenzou is sure that most of is neighbors would have heard.

Tenzou takes pleasure in the way it sounds though, along with that broken and quivering expression -- it will keep him warm for many nights to come.

  
*

Iruka is curled on the bed, spent and sated and breathing deep by the time Tenzou steps out of the bathroom and tugs his clothes back on. He doesn’t move from his spot under the spill of flickering lights of the street signs below, as beautiful as Tenzou remembers all those months ago, with bruises and teeth marks fully bloomed on his skin.

Tenzou secures the faceplate and throws Iruka one last look, slowly reaching out to brush a strand of damp hair away from his cheek. He finds himself staring at brown eyes then, parting just a sliver before they slide shut again.

“Take care of yourself,” Iruka says, far too softly, as if they are words he isn’t meant to speak out loud, a secret he isn’t supposed to say at all.

Tenzou doesn’t respond, but his touch lingers on a cheek before he quietly lets himself out.

For the next long several hours, Iruka’s warmth keeps him grounded and focused.

  
*

Help comes in the shape of Tsunade, and Tenzou receives his first order —an S-rank mission that requires him and his team to eliminate an entire bloodline, hiding in Moon. 

Tenzou hears of Kakashi’s return to consciousness from a teammate, just as they are preparing to leave the village. He breathes a little easier as he straps his sword into place and they leave, crossing through Konoha’s rooftops. Something had unraveled in him upon hearing the news, slackening tightly coiled cords, frustration ebbing away to something calmer, clearer. 

Tenzou looks over his shoulder at the fading hospital building in the distance, landing on a tiled roof and pushing himself forward. He spots the familiar cluster of the bachelor wards, the little corner building that they zip past, and when he turns, just a little before the sun begins rise in the sky, he sees a familiar face push a window open, yawning behind a fist and an arm stretched over his head.

It’s an image that stays with him as he cuts across the country and then the sea, splitting throats wide open in the middle of night, spilling blood without batting an eyelash, and burying the evidence under a stretch of orange blossom trees. Tenzou blinks at his choice of trees for this mission, but thinks nothing further of it when pops a soldier pill into his mouth and leads his team back. If anything, come summer, it’ll be a sight to behold, a smatter of green with perfectly sweet clementines. 

By the time he gets home weeks later, Tenzou sleeps like a baby for a full day.

When he wakes up, he’ll find Kakashi, and see how he’s doing.   
  
  


TBC  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by [sub_textual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual). Who is great. Check out her works, too.
> 
> Thank you for reading! Support YamaIru <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [Sub_textual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual). Check out her stuff, she's great!
> 
>  
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNINGS: VERY GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF VIOLENCE AGAINST CHILDREN. AND PEOPLE. DISTURBING THEMES.**

Kakashi had been reinstated into active field duty.

It’s something Tenzou finds a little surprising, until he realizes that Team 7 had gone their separate ways. That the only survivor of the Uchiha clan had defected, the Jinchuuriki had left with Jiraiya as his mentor, and the girl is currently undergoing training as Tsunade’s apprentice. He can already foresee the state Kakashi must be in — losing his team that way, not being good enough of a leader to keep them together, failing them so terribly. He can only imagine how Kakashi reacted to discovering that Sasuke had apparently put a fist through Naruto’s chest, and the amount of genin casualties that had occurred preceding that battle.

(Tenzou knows that war always comes far too early for children. Children born to be shinobi are only ever children up until they learn to wrap a fist around their first weapon. And if they have to, children die like men. While their deaths and sacrifices often make it possible for others to celebrate their heroic acts, they are murdered children all the same. Everlasting honor for them, little bodies put into the ground, or their names etched into stone — everlasting shame behind closed doors and murmured secrets for those who continue to live on. After all, children who come home dead or with massive holes in their chest, should never be dishonored. They fought bravely, didn’t they?)

Tenzou was only gone a few weeks.

He didn’t expect to come home to shambles and a stickier mess than when he had left. And while Konoha at least remains strong and is no longer leaderless, within her gates lies a different story. Tenzou takes home an entire dossier that weighs over two pounds, briefings he had to catch up on and be aware of, threats made to Konoha during his absence, the recent prison break incident, rogue-nins who were captured, and a slew of other information from the torture and interrogation team that have been red flagged as high alert for all ANBU and active field shinobi.

Tenzou didn’t need to exercise effort in finding Kakashi — he overhears from a different unit that they had seen him leave the gates two days ago, probably another mission. Everyone is being sent out on back-to-back missions, with very little rest in between. Tenzou knows his ‘recovery’ timer started counting down the moment he had stepped foot past Konoha’s gates. Essentially, he has less than twenty four hours before he has to pack again for his next assignment.

He spends the next two hours reading through the reports, memorising the changes made to Konoha’s structures, old road closures and new ones that had to be built after Orochimaru’s attack. He takes note of the body count ANBU had lost, how one of the units never returned, and is presumed to be deceased, last reported to be seen somewhere around Sound’s borders. He reviews the updated list of new candidates, and ones that have recently stepped down.   
  
Tenzou’s frown deepens, when he reads about the prison break, about the recovered bodies, and how one of them, according to the report, was infused with experimental DNA. Ibiki’s notes say it was voluntary. The photographs attached to the report shows a man twice Tenzou’s size —  sickly looking, eyes rolled back, drool dribbling down his mouth, the camera capturing what apparently had been a severe seizure, a side effect to the experiment. Something in Tenzou coils with disgust at the thought of willingly wanting to be experimented on like that for the sake of power.

(Sometimes, he still feels his balance tip to one side every time he’s in a closed space. Sometimes, he can still hear the rush of fluid, how it had felt like to have it fill his nose, when his feet didn’t touch the bottom of a tank that had felt like the dark trenches of an ocean. Sometimes he wakes up and tastes bitter chemicals at the back of his throat.)

He flips the page and stares at the names who had successfully detained this monster two weeks ago:

Uzumaki Naruto — Genin

Umino Iruka — Chuunin

Tenzou blinks a few times at the name, as his mind digests this new information. He mulls it over for a good minute, and then continues reading the rest of the dossier. His mind keeps drawing back to it, however, something familiar pulsing at the back of his mind, even as he memorizes the contents of the updated Bingo Book. He thinks of the small face of Kakashi’s former student facing such a monster, and the beautiful face of a man who had too much of a smart mouth for his own good. He can’t imagine what would have happened if the Kyuubi container had died in the hands of this traitor, when Uzumaki Naruto holds a power far too great within him. Tenzou doesn’t know if there is anyone in existence who can pull off what the Yondaime had done, who even has the knowledge to try. Not since the late Sandaime.

He isn’t too worried about Iruka — he isn’t too much of a risk, and comparatively, he would have been categorized as a lesser casualty thanNaruto. A loss all the same, but Tenzou assesses risks and not bleeding hearts. A chuunin Academy instructor can easily be replaced, if needed.

By the time he reads the last page, and incinerates the information, the glow of the summer sun is softer, condensation clinging to the window panes. Tenzou rolls up to his feet, puts on a t-shirt and switches the air conditioning off, taking to the streets.

He takes the long route from his apartment, passing through the vegetable market and rows of textile merchants, until he cuts through an alley and ends up on Tea Avenue. He walks with his hands tucked into his pockets, taking in the familiar sights and smells, faces he recognizes, but are otherwise strangers. He walks amongst the people who he bleeds and kills for, refamiliarizing himself with his home – the land he is loyal to, the one thing he can find solace in from the neverending spin of blood and chaos. He sees love within the confines of Konoha’s gates, when children rush past him in summer clothes, dripping popsicles melting in their hands, as they purchase shaved ice from the multitude of colorful street carts and vendors that thrive during summer. Everything is just a little brighter, splashed with loud colored prints and straw hats, bare shoulders and flowing cotton dresses and shirts. He picks up a frozen pineapple on the way, and is reminded, as he hands loose change to the toothless vendor, that no matter how far he wanders from the land that he has sworn his fealty to, there will always be this waiting for him — the safety of his people, the flashing lights, laughter and bustling of the innocents.

The smell of something sweet and warm makes Tenzou pause, brows pinching for the slightest second when he turns and takes stock of a bakery, the attendant pulling something out of the oven — rows upon rows of cinnamons rolls, steaming and piping hot as they are slathered in something that looks noxiously sweet. The familiar smell clicks into place and Tenzou suddenly realizes why he had stopped.

Oranges and cinnamon, that one thing he couldn’t figure out every time he pressed his tongue against warm skin — Iruka.

Tenzou huffs a soft, amused breath as he continues on his way, cutting through the length of the river and bypassing the Academy’s playground, lined with a barbwire fence, when he hears a familiar voice calling out to the last child dangling from the monkey bars. He pauses by a tree, watching as the boy — no older than five years old — hops down and skips across the playground, throwing skinny arms around Iruka’s waist, before following him back inside, most likely en route to a  parent waiting out front.

Tenzou doesn’t linger, tossing the popsicle stick into a nearby trash bin as he rounds the corner to take the road that would lead him to the Hokage tower, and spots Iruka from a distance away, waving at the boy and parent. He watches as the bright grin on Iruka’s face suddenly dulls down to something quieter, something that looks a lot more exhausted, as his shoulders slump and Iruka rubs the back of his neck, rotating a shoulder, and treads back into the Academy.

He could go find him later, see if that invitation was serious at all — Tenzou finds appeal in that curious thought, as he continues on his walk, hands deep in his pockets.

Tenzou stops by the mission room, taking a peek at the names listed on duty that day. He doesn’t find Iruka’s name. Tenzou realizes, a little too late, that he had already made his decision the moment he had decided to take a look at the names on duty.

*

Iruka is home and damp from a shower, wet hair sticking to his neck, a blast of cold air pouring out of the open door. He is dressed in cotton shorts with summer patterns and a white tank top that has clearly seen far too many washes. He also has a finger in his mouth and has something stuck to his teeth — apparently, he was in the middle of eating something when he had rushed to open the door, eyes widening at the sight of Tenzou, standing there like an unmoving potted plant, hands in his pockets.

“ANBU-san.” Iruka blinks and holds his door open without hesitation, pulling it wide open in invitation. “Come in?”

“Thank you.” Tenzou nods, stepping into the pitifully small genkan, toeing off his sandals, the corner of his lips twitching in amusement at the name Iruka has assigned him with.

He never forgot how that name came about. He remembers staring at the stars during their journey breaks back home, and how his lips would twitch upwards the smallest bit at the memory of that name.

Iruka’s television is playing a game show, mismatched cushions haphazardly thrown on the floor. There is an open container of what looks like thawing mochi ice cream, along with a cup of tea, beside two very high stacks of what looks like quiz papers. The small portable air conditioner is old, loud and rattling away in the corner, blowing cold air into the small apartment. It doesn’t do a very good job, Tenzou notes, because he can feel the heat coming from beyond the shelves that separates the living room and Iruka’s bedroom.

“Forgive the mess. Would you like something to drink? It’s unbelievably hot today,” Iruka sighs, turning the lock, and steps into the kitchen to take out a pitcher of iced water and a glass, offering it wordlessly. “I’ve got iced tea if that’s something you like. Or cold beer. And sake.”

Tenzou hums, draining the glass in one go, remaining within the small space of the genkan, handing the empty glass back. “Were you serious about your offer? Or do you always allow strangers into your home like this?”

Iruka laughs, shaking his head as he sets the glass on the counter. “I wouldn’t have let you in if I wasn’t serious. I wouldn’t have made the offer, no matter how deep you had your cock in me or if you were fucking me into the ground if I wasn’t interested or serious. You’re Konoha, that’s hardly a stranger.”

Tenzou knows he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. He had watched this man get embraced by a child in his arms not hours ago, like it had been the most natural thing for him to receive. He had watched Iruka laugh and ruffle hair, take that little boy’s hand in his and guide him to his waiting parent. He had witnessed the very thing he bleeds for unfold before him, an unguarded innocence with a wide smile — the kind that stems from having the confidence of safety, the knowledge that no harm would come to them, as they wave to each other, saying, good night, Iruka-sensei! See you tomorrow!

Amusement curls like slow cigarette smoke, equally intoxicating, and just as dangerous, as Tenzou leans his shoulder against the wall, pushing his hands back into his pockets. He wonders how that parent would have reacted if they knew just hours later, Iruka would speak of having cock in his ass the same way he’d offer a guest something to drink.

Tenzou remembers the report he read that day, his gaze tracing over the lines of Iruka’s body. He looks better — not as small, the jut of his collarbone and lines of his jaw no longer as sharp. The grief never goes, Tenzou knows, but with time, wounds heal.

For some, anyway.

“I could be someone else. A traitor. I could have just broken out of prison, wanting to start trouble. I could be a missing-nin.” Tenzou  watches how Iruka stiffens where he stands. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch from the penetrating gaze Tenzou gives him. If anything, he tips his chin higher, a gesture of bravado, Tenzou recognises, even though Tenzou knows that he’s pressed a few buttons.

He suddenly remembers Iruka and Mizuki, the reason why it was nagging him like an itch he couldn’t scratch at the back of his head — the memory comes to him like a sudden flash of light. He remembers reading a briefing report on how the forbidden scroll was stolen from Sandaime’s office, how the Jinchuriki had gotten past guards, and how Mizuki had been using the boy the entire time. Iruka has been there too, to save his student.

Tenzou didn’t make the immediate connection until he had read that briefing and saw Mizuki’s name.

Iruka looks suddenly guarded, tensed, a frown pinching between his brows. He wears his heart on his sleeve, emotions flickering within the depths of brown eyes — eyes that Tenzou knows are speckled with little flecks of gold if you stare long enough.

There is no flush this time.

The color drains from Iruka’s face instead.

“If you were, I would be dead by now.” Iruka shrugs, a little recklessly, once again showing far too much vulnerability. The guy either has no self preservation or he cares too little for himself. It’s odd, Tenzou thinks, seeing as how Iruka seems to care a little too much about his students, too attached to them, if the Jinchuuriki is anything to go by, along with the crookedly made trinkets and drawings around the apartment.

“And that doesn’t scare you?” Tenzou steps forward, getting into Iruka’s space, boxing him in when he plants his palms on the counter, bending to peer into Iruka’s eyes, searching. This close he can smell it in Iruka’s hair — orange and cinnamon, so very intoxicatingly calming.

“Being betrayed by someone who wears Konoha’s symbol?” Iruka swallows, and a trembling hand comes up to rest Tenzou’s cheek. It’s warm and soft, the crooked scar cutting across Iruka’s right palm pressing into his cheek. “You wouldn’t be the first, ANBU-san. And you’d still get caught.”

Suddenly, Iruka is shoving Tenzou’s face backwards roughly, nowhere as gentle or as seductive as the touches Tenzou is more familiar with. Iruka pushes past him, dropping himself on a printed cushion and picks up the spoon, shoving one mochi ice cream after the other into his mouth, emptying the styrofoam box in minutes. Amusement curls lopsidedly on Tenzou’s lips, heat curling in his stomach as he watches Iruka eat, the force of that shove burning into his skin, wrapping around his cock like a lazy stroke.

“So if you’re not here to fuck, you know where the door is.” Iruka takes a sip of tea, once he finishes polishing off the last bite of mochi.

Tenzou can’t stop the chuckles from bubbling past his throat. “Relax, I’m just teasing you.” Tenzou wraps fingers around Iruka’s chin, turning his head up and towards him.

Iruka is silent for a while, taking a sip of his tea and staring at the television. Tenzou watches his jaw lock, watches how he grinds his teeth, tension pulling his neck and arms taut. Had it not been for the ratty tanktop Iruka was wearing, it wouldn't have been so visible. Tenzou wouldn’t have to watch how it wrestles something from within — he has learned to be leery of silence. Silence, be it someone’s mouth or the field, doesn’t always mean that Tenzou has the final say or victory in his hands. More often than not, silence just means the gathering of weapons, preparing to strike.

“Well, then, your foreplay is bullshit,” Iruka grumbles, jerking his chin away, throwing Tenzou a glare.

There it is — the fire that not only burns in the heat of passion. The impudent resistance makes liquid heat course through Tenzou’s veins, makes him reach forward and turn Iruka’s chin forward again, lowering himself to his knees, staring at the flecks of gold in the sea of brown, burning as brightly as embers. Iruka doesn’t pull away again, and instead goes very still in Tenzou’s grip. He doesn’t flinch away when Tenzou pushes fingers through damp hair, wrapping those silk strands in between his fingers. He watches as color slowly starts to return to Iruka’s face, watches how the spill of red ever so slowly spreads over the tips of his ears, and how his throat bobs when he swallows.

“Foreplay was never my forte,” Tenzou says, and yanks Iruka close, their noses almost brushing. “You haven’t figured that out by now?”

“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be paying attention beyond the act of fucking,” Iruka points out. “Should I change that, ANBU-san?”

That name really needs to stop.

“No need,” Tenzou leans forward and tastes green tea and mango, Iruka’s cool lips warming under his own, merely pliant at first, but the slow brush of tongue makes Tenzou lean closer, turning Iruka to face him, a hand snaking under the tanktop, warm skin spreading under his palms. “You’re right about one thing though,” Tenzou grins, and it’s all the warning Iruka gets when Tenzou bodily flips him over, forcing him on his hands and knees, planting himself between legs that he forcefully spreads with his knees. Iruka doesn’t resist him at all, a flush crawling down the curve of his neck. Tenzou pulls his t-shirt off, tossing it aside, before he reaches forward and wraps his hand around Iruka’s throat, pulling him flushed against his chest, cock filling with blood when Iruka moans, choking a little under his grip when Tenzou tightens his hold, pressing his lips against Iruka’s ears, and ever so softly, he whispers, “Traitors will never get away. Not on my watch.” 

* 

Tenzou fucks Iruka on all fours, right on the floor, and comes long and hard just watching Iruka grip the edge of his scratched, old table, a useless attempt to try to stay anchored when everything in him is coming apart and drowning in pleasure, staggered cries louder than the rattle of the air conditioning and the television. The pile of papers fall, scattering all over the floor, a sudden splash of white, as Tenzou pulls himself out and collapses on his back on the floor, chest heaving. Tenzou feels smug satisfaction at the sight Iruka makes — curled on his side, shoulders shuddering as he catches his breath, cum dripping out of his ass and smearing over his thighs. Tenzou can’t help but press fingers against the dimples on Iruka’s lower back, watches how the touch elicits a shudder, how Iruka makes a soft noise deep in his throat when Tenzou traces the length of his spine.

There is a fading bruise on Iruka’s side, days old and fairly large, taking a good portion of his torso and hip. Tenzou imagines it must have been darker, uglier, possibly swollen and hard in some places, the kind that would make one wince if touched. Iruka doesn’t flinch when fingers brush against the fading purple, and turns when Tenzou urges him lie on his back on the floor, pushing a cushion under his head.

“Should I be aware of visiting hours?” Tenzou asks, something curling in his chest at the glassy eyed stare Iruka is directing at him.

“Whenever,” Iruka is breathless. “If I’m not in the mood, I’ll ask you to leave. Silver Swan is only three blocks away. I can’t be the only ass you have on call.”

“Ah, does that mean I’m the only dick you have on call?” Tenzou pauses. “Or, well, available for service?”

Iruka chokes out a laugh, turning is head to stare at the mess of scattered papers on the ground. “You don’t come often enough. I don’t see you often enough. So don’t flatter yourself — I have needs. I can’t keep waiting for your dick to be available.”

Tenzou laughs, soft and full, enough for him to relax further into the floor, lying spread with his spent cock hanging out of his pants, an arm over his forehead. Iruka rolls up to sit up then, a visible shudder trailing down his back as he sucks in a sharp breath. Tenzou had been far from gentle —  Iruka’s back is littered with teeth and finger marks — Tenzou had outdone himself this time, had not been merciful when he pushed into that tight heat, had ripped the sounds right out of Iruka’s throat, made him beg for more. Harder, Iruka demanded. Oh gods, more, he had groaned.

Just thinking about it is enough to make Tenzou’s cock twitch. “Too much?”

Iruka looks over his shoulder, hair a mess, and Tenzou can’t stop the heat from curling in his stomach at the sight —  the lowered lids, the completely debauched look, flush riding high on Iruka’s cheeks. Iruka looks absolutely wrecked, dripping all over the floor, utterly disheveled — fucking beautiful. A dimple peeks out, as Iruka looks on at him with amusement and a smile, and says, “Why would you start caring now?”

“I’m told it’s the polite thing to do,” Tenzou reaches forward, sweeping hair off Iruka’s face, watching his eyebrows go up to his hairline, before he rolls his eyes. “I got what I came for. I’m not opposed to a few more rounds. If you have things you need to finish, I can go.”

Iruka is quiet for a second, gaze turning to the stack of fallen papers. “I need to grade these for tomorrow…”

“Okay,” Tenzou tucks himself back into his pants before he rolls back up to a seating position, pressing a hand on Iruka's bare thigh, his other cupping Iruka’s cheek. “I’ll leave you to your work, Iruka-sensei.”

Iruka’s nose wrinkles, something quiet presing around the corners of his gaze as he leans over and press their mouths together in a lazy kiss. It’s slow, satiated, the fire dulled by something a little softer before Iruka pulls back, carding fingers through Tenzou’s short hair.

“Be careful?” Iruka sounds hesitant.

It sounds a little like concern, peppered by hope, Iruka’s throat bobbing as he swallows and his gaze slides to the side. It’s almost a little shy, and Tenzou can’t help but watch all these subtle changes and cocks his eyebrow. It never ceases to bewilder Tenzou to bits, just how open this man is capable of being — he wouldn’t survive a day in ANBU, Tenzou thinks. Tenzou knows that Iruka would probably violently recoil if he found out that Tenzou had slaughtered infants in their nurseries and cribs, plunged his kunai deep into their throats, twisted and waited until their heart beats stopped. Iruka would look at him like he was a monster, if he knew that he had picked up kids who had woken up from their sleep when chaos descended into their stronghold, and snapped their necks cleanly in half, their bodies dropping with heavy thuds — they couldn’t even run, had stared up at the pale mask with tears running down their eyes, had watched their cousins, brothers, sisters, friends drop like marionettes to the ground, one by one, as Tenzou snipped their strings off. Iruka would get sick if he knew that Tenzou had walked out of that room, and killed helpless elderlies, weakened by age, unable to even speak anymore, how they had simply closed their eyes and choked when their throats were split wide open.

Iruka would probably not favor the scent of orange, would cease to use that particular hair product, if he knew how twisted it was for Tenzou to plant an entire forest of clementine trees, over the eighty-four bodies he and his team had successfully eliminated. He probably would find it rather sick that as Tenzou completed his mission, with blood soaking into the white plates of his armor, splattered on his armour and boots, he had been thinking of Iruka.

The color would drain from his face if he knew that Tenzou had slept like the dead the moment his head hit the pillow, blissfully conked out from exhaustion, the cries of his victims muted in the background — just another day in the job. Iruka may even look sick, especially since he handles children everyday.

Tenzou knows he’s a monster, knows that not a lot of people have a stomach like him.

(The strongest man he knows and looks up to can barely sleep without waking up with a sharp intake of breath — Kakashi always finds him after missions like that, eyes dark, desperate for punishing, brutal sex, that leaves him bleeding and bruised, even though no amount of fucking can ever truly help him atone. It’s never pretty, and Tenzou, to a point, can understand, but perhaps not entirely relate to it. It’s their job, and if they can’t handle it, no one else would.)

Tenzou is fine with being a monster.

He isn’t naive to think that others would understand — certainly doesn’t expect it of Iruka, who is far too soft. Be careful, Iruka says, and Tenzou gives into the urge to kiss the corner of Iruka’s mouth before the smile can fully form.

It’s cute, Iruka’s concern. Unnecessary, considering their arrangement, but very cute all the same.

“Of course.”   
  


*  
  
Tenzou doesn’t meet Kakashi until a good week later, in the small confines of the izakaya they both frequent. Kakashi looks like utter shit — paler under the mask, tired, worn to the bone, fatigue pressed into the solid line of his shoulders. Tenzou can see the weight resting on his shoulders, the quiet set of his jaw, and he knows that disconnect he can see, is unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

It’s vicious, how guilt carves into every cut of Kakashi’s body.

Tenzou never understood guilt — not the way he’s seen his teammates process it. Guilt isn’t exactly a response to anger, but a response to one’s own actions, or lack of actions. With Kakashi, Tenzou has learned very slowly over the years that a good portion of Kakashi’s guilt stems from his perception that he is lacking somehow — he didn’t do enough, wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, should have been there, should have calculated better, should have stayed, should have listened, should have looked closer — thousands of should haves, an unending mantra of it.

It’s a useless feeling, guilt. Tenzou knows that it’s never enough to make anyone change direction, for the worst or the better. It didn’t matter. It is only enough to make a man useless during quiet moments when the mantra in the back of his head rings loudest.

Tenzou doesn’t like seeing Kakashi this way, doesn’t like seeing the man he respects and holds in high regard come apart over things that he certainly has no control over — not all of it, anyway. Kakashi isn’t an all-seeing god, and other people’s choices aren’t his responsibility. Not from where Tenzou stands.

But that’s just the kind of man Kakashi is.

He cares too deeply, even when he tries to pretend he doesn’t, and if he’s even remotely involved in a situation, if he’s even made witness to something bad, Kakashi can never look away. Even when he spends far too much time mourning the dead and living in the past, one eye is always focused on the present, always trying to protect, always trying hard to fulfill what loss and war and rivers of blood have shaped him into — always, always thinking he hasn’t atoned enough.

Tenzou doesn’t know anyone with a bigger heart than Hatake Kakashi. He doubts that there’s anyone else in the village who is capable of inflicting self-blame the way Kakashi does, how he swallows it all down and hides behind his colorful books, how sometimes the only way to stop the horrors from ringing so loud in his head is to feel muscle and skin bruise under his fingers, to push into a fevered body, leave marks of himself there, and forget that there’s anything else beyond the act of fucking. Tenzou has been on the receiving end of that many, many times. Sometimes, he’s the one fucking Kakashi into the floor, or against the wall, or any flat surface they come across, but that tends to be more rare. He isn’t about to say no now.

(A part of Tenzou enjoys it — the brutality of it, the afterburn that lingers. It’s fulfilling in its own way.)

He’s learned not to really look away when it comes to Kakashi, finds it his responsibility and duty to make sure that Kakashi at least remains on his feet and functioning. Tenzou isn’t the kind to be supportive when it comes to anything truly personal, but he knows too much about Kakashi, too much of the broken pieces of his history that Tenzou had put together — it would be wrong to abandon someone who would never abandon him.

So he doesn’t ever turn Kakashi away, even though sometimes, everything in him is tells him to take a step back and stop.

“Want some company?” Tenzou jokes, and takes a seat when Kakashi tips his chin in agreement. There’s a bottle of shochu on the table, one that Kakashi drinks straight without watering down. “When did you get back?”

“Last night.” Kakashi waves at the purveyor for an extra cup. “You?”

“This afternoon.” Tenzou looks up when the cup is set on the table and asks for his usual before he pours them both a drink. “Might leave in the morning. Probably. You know how it is.” Tenzou shrugs because sometimes, the summon comes at dawn. ANBU hasn’t changed in the four years since Kakashi had been honorably discharged. “Do you know when you have to leave next?”

“A week,” Kakashi takes a sip of his drink. “Recovery.”

“Ah,” Tenzou doesn’t need to prod further. Recovery in Kakashi-speak means he’s being forced to stay put, possibly due to chakra depletion or an onset of it, possibly an injury, or maybe because he’s been taking missions without a period of rest in between. “It’s good to see you again, Senpai. It’s been a long while.”

Kakashi simply hums, but when he looks up over the rim of his cup, Tenzou sees something sharper in his gaze, something dark and hot and desperate, and Tenzou can’t stop the hot clench in his stomach, when he knows what’s coming.

*

There’s never a need for words when it comes to Kakashi.

Tenzou is on his hands and knees, fist tight on the headboard as he swallows the groan threatening to rip past his throat when Kakashi grinds into him, long and hard, fingers digging into Tenzou’s hips, then scraping down to his ass so roughly that Tenzou has to grit his teeth, his jaw aching as he refuses to give voice to the pleasure wanting to spill out of him. Kakashi snaps his hips forward once and Tenzou’s mouth fall open in a mute gasp for breath, the softest groan trembling out of his lungs, as his body clenches around Kakashi’s length so tightly that it makes Kakashi groan and pull out of him, quick and fluid, long enough to flip Tenzou on his back and slam back in with a deep rumble of satisfaction.

Tenzou can’t stop the sudden snap of his exhale, how it comes out sharp and a little too loud, his eyes scrunching shut as he holds on to the edge of the mattress, his other hand resting on Kakashi’s shoulder, riding out brutal thrusts that makes him sees stars behind scrunched eyelids. He’s spread wide open under Kakashi, a knee on his shoulder and Kakashi’s fingers digging into his thigh, as he pounds into him mercilessly. Fucks him like he’s trying to fuck the emptiness out, as he tries to make himself feel anything that isn’t the guilt that makes his eyes too raw, makes his breath too desperate, makes his fingers clench around Tenzou’s thigh like maybe Kakashi wants to hold onto this moment a little longer. Drag it out, so he doesn’t have to go back to the reality of what he’s trying to escape with his cock splitting apart the hot, wanting body beneath him.

Tenzou forces his mouth to snap shut, breathing hard and heavy through his nose as his cock twitches and spills precum. Kakashi’s fingers snap around his wrist, harsh in its grip, ripping Tenzou’s hand off his shoulder and forcing his fingers around Tenzou’s cock, coaxing it to stroke, vicious and long, and gods, Tenzou can feel his lips tremble and the moan in his lungs suffocate to the softest of noises as he turns his head away, facing the wall, following the silent command to touch himself.

Tenzou matches the strokes to Kakashi’s unforgiving pace, shoulders curling inwards as he strokes his cock and one hand flicks over his nipple, eyes opening a sliver in the dark as he watches Kakashi tower between his spread legs, hips thrusting hard and fast, the moonlight bathing him in white, cutting sharp shadows around the edges. Kakashi is looking at him, sweat beading on his chest and neck, his dark eye eerily sharp and focused, pupil fully dilated, Sharingan spinning sluggishly like he’s trying to memorize the sight of Tenzou beneath him.

And like always, it makes something in Tenzou unravel — being looked at this way by Kakashi, and he’s coming with a soft hiss, long and hard, ribbons of white splattering over his belly and under his chin. Kakashi’s pace grows a little quicker, the snap of his hips shorter, and then Tenzou feels it — the flood of his orgasm, hot and thick, as Kakashi gasps out roughly towards the ceiling, the sound segueing into a hoarse groan, neck craned all the way back as he empties himself.

Kakashi is always attractive when he comes, Tenzou thinks, as he watches how Kakashi’s body draws tight and his Adam’s apple bob as he tries catch his breath. The word beautiful comes to mind, the thought stuttering to a stop when it suddenly feels a little wrong, like it doesn’t fit — not in Tenzou’s eyes.  
  
The thought goes as quickly as it comes, when Kakashi pulls out of him and lowers himself on the bed, heavy breath filling the bedroom before silence settles in. Tenzou groans a little when he shifts, turning to his side as Kakashi spoons him, wrapping arms over his middle and pressing his forehead against Tenzou’s nape.

The hold is a little tighter, a little desperate, and Tenzou lies there in silence until Kakashi’s breaths even out.

He doesn’t tell Kakashi that it’s okay, that he’ll be okay, that losing his team wasn’t his fault, that people make their own choices. That Kakashi would not have known how to stop Sasuke’s thirst for revenge if it had been there for a long time. That he should feel proud that he’s molded his team to something the Sannins themselves had deemed worthy to take interest on.

But the wound is far too fresh.

Tenzou can’t use words, but he can lie there and wait while Kakashi gets a few hours of dreamless sleep before the nightmares settle in. There’s not much he can do for Kakashi — he can only hope for the best.

* 

In the weeks that follow, they fall back into each other like their schedules are aligned, even when they’re not. Tenzou comes home from briefings, report submissions, and training to find Kakashi in his apartment, reading a book and waiting for him. Sometimes they run into each other at the Hokage tower, sometimes on the street, and when they do, they head to whoever’s place is closer. There’s never a need for words. It’s familiar and easy, and Tenzou finds himself not looking elsewhere for a fuck when Kakashi does him so good, that sometimes, the burn lasts long enough into his next mission.

Tenzou runs into Kakashi one afternoon on the street, two weeks since he last saw him, when Kakashi had fucked his mouth so raw, Tenzou had sounded like he had sore throat delivering his orders to his team. They fall in step with each other, and cross the length of Tea Avenue.

When they walk by the bakery, Tenzou comes to a sudden stop when the warm smell of cinnamon floods his senses, and he turns to look past the glass windows where he sees the familiar sight of the bakery attendant glazing freshly baked rolls. He watches the attendant then grate orange rind over the top, and for the first time in weeks, one name pops into Tenzou’s mind.

Iruka.

(Tenzou hasn’t thought of him at all — not since Kakashi. There was never a need to, because he was always just a means to scratch an itch.)

“Do you need to get something?” Kakashi asks, hands in his pockets, following Tenzou’s line of sight to the bakery.

“No.” Tenzou blinks, tearing his gaze away from the window and continues walking down the street.

The smell of cinnamon, the warm and faint sweetness of it, doesn’t leave Tenzou’s mind at all, even long after he’s been so thoroughly fucked that he can’t feel his knees, his neck bruised with the shadows of Kakashi’s fingers, lungs heaving as he catches his breath, head so heavy that he can’t even lift it off the pillow. He doesn’t have the energy to turn, doesn’t have the strength to even clean up. Luckily, he can count on Kakashi to always handle that whenever he's fucked him this roughly.

A warm, wet towel runs over him, cleaning him off, then disappears.

Kakashi’s arm settles over him heavily and draws him in close, and Tenzou sucks in a soft breath, Kakashi’s scent filling his nostrils — fields and pines — a cooler scent, almost too faint to be anything obvious, hidden and subtle, pressed inwards like the man who keeps everything in him locked up.

It’s not bold, and loud, warm and spicy like  cinnamon, and vibrant like the smooth skin of a summer orange. Too much obvious personality, a heart worn on the sleeve, so easy for the world to see, like dimples dotting cheeks and a saucy smile to go with an impertinent mouth that is far too pretty, too cute.

Tenzou’s brows furrow, as he forces the thought of Iruka out of his mind.

He isn’t very successful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you following this story -- thank you! I appreciate your thoughts and giving this pairing a shot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by THE FABULOUS [Sub_textual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual). 
> 
>  
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNINGS: VERY, VERY, VERY GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF VIOLENCE AGAINST CHILDREN. AND PEOPLE. DISTURBING THEMES. SERIOUSLY. IT'S FUCKED UP. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.**

Tenzou doesn’t know when it starts, except that it does.

He stops feeling like he’s fully in the present when he realizes that he is making comparisons that he shouldn’t be making at all.

It starts off small, the thought barely even registering one late afternoon, creeping in like an infection, when Kakashi is on his knees, a firm hold on Tenzou’s hips, cock deep in Kakashi’s throat. 

Tenzou really notices Kakashi’s hair, which is thick, coarse, drier around the edges. It doesn’t feel like silk when Tenzou’s fingers cards through them. The strands are not smooth in their flow when they fall between his fingers, completely uneven. Tenzou can’t wrap Kakashi’s hair around his fist — too short, too different — but he grips a fistful all the same, and fucks that needy mouth the way Kakashi wants him to. He fully understands now, the appeal of long hair, why most of his partners in the past, including Kakashi, had bunched up his long hair, wrapped it around a fist and fucked his mouth. Tenzou had done it to others who had long hair before, but never truly appreciated it until now.

Tenzou doesn’t realize how he’d made the comparison while getting an amazing blowjob until much later, when they’re both lying in bed with the setting sun spilling into the room, casting everything in a warm orange glow. Tenzou finds himself staring at Kakashi’s profile, at the three day old stubble growing on his face — his sharper jaw, thicker neck, and how silver strands fall against the pillow but don’t quite flow over it. 

Tenzou thinks of another jaw, how it is softened by smooth, clean shaven skin, framed by silky strands around a beautiful face. Iruka has longer and thicker lashes than Kakashi, and his nose isn’t as pointed, his lips aren’t as thin; he doesn’t have a scar cutting across the upper left corner of his lip, or a birthmark on his chin. Iruka’s lips are incredibly soft, always framing teeth that peek out when he’s amused, or being cheeky. The dimples that dot his cheeks are what makes Iruka look softer, less harsher, less dark and haunted by shadows that surround broken men like Kakashi, or someone like Tenzou, who isn’t broken at all, because there is simply nothing in him to break.

Tenzou must have been staring for too long, because Kakashi cracks an eye open and turns to face him.

Tenzou can’t deny that Kakashi is ridiculously attractive.

He isn’t even sure why he’s subconsciously making the comparison to begin with. It’s unreasonable. 

Kakashi pins him with a questioning look, a single eyebrow going up. Tenzou doesn’t deem it with a response and simply turns his head away, his own thoughts spinning in his head. 

But, the comparison never stops. Tenzou starts to notice everything — how Kakashi’s hands are calloused, drier, his nails not as smooth or even as Iruka’s; how Kakashi is broader, stronger, how his cock is longer in Tenzou’s hand, heavier. Iruka’s had been thick, a good girth, but it didn’t take as long to stroke. He starts to look for things like pen marks on fingertips, a jagged scar that is smooth and warm on a right palm that’s missing because Kakashi’s scars are different — they tell a story of a lifetime of war, and sometimes, recklessness that stems from too much hurt over the years.

It happens again, and again, again, and Tenzou only stops when one day, months into their continuous fuckfest, when Kakashi had pinned him with a lopsided smirk as Tenzou stared at his profile, completely lost in his thoughts, amusement tugging around the corners of Kakashi’s lips.

It’s a sobering reaction, ice going down his neck, and Tenzou forces himself to be hyper aware, when he should be more relaxed behind closed doors and in Kakashi’s company. After all, he trusts Kakashi with his life, and doesn’t think there’s anyone else in Konoha he can count on the way he counts on Kakashi.

The truth is, he’s not sure why he can’t stop thinking about warm brown eyes, dimples, and a cheeky smile. He can’t figure out why he keeps looking for the smell of orange and cinnamon, why the faintest whiff of something sharp and citrusy has him pausing, only to realize that it’s different.

The truth is, he shouldn’t even be thinking of Iruka anymore. Tenzou thinks it’s frankly quite insulting to Kakashi that he’s even making a comparison when they’re two separate people. Tenzou doesn’t even want to think how Kakashi would even react or look at him if he knew, even though he probably wouldn’t care.

It’s wrong.

It’s been four months since he last saw Iruka.

Iruka probably doesn’t even remember him.

*

Tenzou realizes that Iruka becomes an itch he resolutely refuses to scratch.

He becomes incredibly guarded around Kakashi, walled up and closed off, careful in his touches, movements measured, elbows tucked against his ribs to prevent his fingers from straying to Kakashi’s hair to make yet another unnecessary comparison. He doesn’t know if Kakashi notices, and if he does, Kakashi doesn’t show it.

He volunteers for a long assignment, one that would keep him in the scorching heat of Wind, just as Konoha starts to cool down and the leaves turn gold.

The distance does nothing to make him stop thinking of the feeling of silky hair between his fingers, cheeky dimpled smiles and the heady smell of orange and cinnamon.

*

By the middle of November, Konoha is a lot cooler and lot more pleasant after spending a little over a month undercover in the barren lands of Wind. Tenzou comes home with sunburn peeling off  his shoulders, glad for the change of weather, and the fresh, cozy smell of autumn.

He bumps into Kakashi in the streets the next evening after waking up from a long sleep, just as they both round the same corner to enter the same restaurant and bar. Tenzou had been debating going to find Kakashi for a change, knocking on his door, taking him up on that offer he’d made so many years ago.  _ You can always come to me, you know, _ Kakashi had told him one night. Tenzou certainly could use a brutal fuck, hoping that maybe, if Kakashi is up to it, he’d be a little rougher, and force the image of a beautiful man right out of Tenzou’s system.

“Tenzou,” he says in greeting, nodding the slightest bit, shoulders remaining slumped, hands tucked in his pockets.

“Senpai.” Tenzou gives him a cursory look over, noting the way tension runs through his shoulders, despite the deceptive slouch; months later, there is hardly a difference — the loss and grief still runs too deep. At this rate, Tenzou is starting to have doubts if it will ever go away. No amount of fucking or training is going to make it any better. “Did you just get back?”

“Two days ago. You?”

“Yesterday morning.” Tenzou tips his chin towards an empty table in the corner, both of them sliding onto the chairs and ordering a bottle of shochu to share.

“Wind?” Kakashi asks, his lips curling under the mask.

“Brutal heat as ever.” Tenzou sighs. “It’s good to be back.”

Kakashi doesn’t say anything, but wordlessly raises his glass.

They drink in relative silence, ordering food in between, just as the bar begins to fill with patrons. The weekend tends to have establishments fill up a little quicker after eight, and within the hour, there are large of groups of people sitting together and sharing meals, some standing at the bar and engaging in conversations. There is a loud buzzing murmur, only punctuated by the sound of plates and chopsticks, glass clinking together, the sound of cans and beer bottles being popped open and sometimes, the occasional loud burst of laughter.

One in particular has Tenzou tensing like he’s been spotted by an enemy in the field.

He can hear it, loud and clear — the familiar laugh that belongs to a cheeky face that he has been pointedly trying not to think about for the past several months, not daring to knock on a particular door to satisfy his itch once and for all. Tenzou goes still in his seat, senses stretching as far as they can, as he focuses on the sound of that familiar voice.

There seems to be a drinking contest going on between Iruka and his colleagues, and when Tenzou turns to look from the corner of his eye, he sees how Iruka’s group of five companions had placed two chairs in front of the other, a line of shots on the table on either side of each chair. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that each time someone laughs at either their own joke or their opponent’s, they are to take a shot of hard liquor. It’s a disaster in the making, with one of the chuunins Tenzou is familiar with — Izumo — keeping tally of the score on his palm with a pen. They make terrible jokes, but none of them are as terrible as the utter trash that leaves Iruka’s mouth. 

Tenzou can hear it clearly — the words and laughter that punctuates each utterly lame joke that rolls past Iruka’s tongue, how he laughs at every single one of them, how he empties his entire row of shot glasses, and gets more poured for him.

“What’s brown and sticky? A stick! Why did the picture go to jail? Because it was framed! Why do bananas need sunscreen? Because they peel! Oh, oh, why did the student throw the butter out of the window! Because the student wanted to see the butterfly! What did the strawberry say when its song started playing on the radio? That’s my jam!”

Iruka punctuates that joke with a little dance on his chair, shaking his arms and swaying side to side tipsily that has his opponent and friends howling in drunken laughter.

It takes all of Tenzou’s training to keep a straight face at how silly (and a little cute) Iruka looks like in his antics, as he sets his chopsticks down and carefully refills their cups and takes a sip from his. He meets Kakashi’s gaze then, sees how it brushes over him. Tenzou knows that Kakashi must have picked up on his distraction. It’s hard not to be distracted when the table at the other end of bar is attracting attention, gaining a few chuckles from the other patrons.

Tenzou hears Iruka laugh again and turns to see him leaning heavily against someone who has an arm around his shoulder, someone who Iruka pointedly pushes away and makes a face at. Tenzou can’t help but watch on as Iruka takes a step back and rounds the table, taking a seat away, cheeks flushed and hair slightly loose from his ponytail. It’s enough to remind Tenzou of all the times he had him on the floor, on the couch and on the bed, widely spread and looking utterly wrecked with that flush, lips parted and slacked in a loose smile. The images of it comes unbidden, flashing through Tenzou’s mind like it had only been yesterday, when it’s been months since he last felt Iruka under his hands, tasted his lips, heard his voice beg, long fingers holding onto him so tightly, as Iruka forgot himself and felt in ways Tenzou never could.

He can hear Iruka’s voice in his ear, the soft tremble of his breath as Tenzou pushed into his body, how Iruka’s neck had been pulled taut as he stared at the ceiling, glassy eyed and sated, riding out his orgasm, unaware of the world around him and clinging to Tenzou’s shoulder like he was the only anchor Iruka had in the turbulent sea of their violent fucking.

“Do you want anything else?” Tenzou asks, turning to look at Kakashi, who is pinning him with a quiet gaze.

“No. I’m good,” Kakashi nods, and then his eyes crescent above his mask with the affectation of something that almost seems sheepish, even though Tenzou knows Kakashi is full of shit. “Mind getting the bill? I seem to have forgotten my wallet.”

“Yes, yes,” Tenzou mutters, “poor kouhai.”

Their bill comes and Tenzou takes it to the counter to pay and then Tenzou follows Kakashi out the door. He isn’t sure what possessed him to look over his shoulder, or why he had even bothered when another round of laughter fills the bar.

From across the way, Tenzou sees Iruka looking at him, recognition flashing in his brown eyes before the smile breaks out across his face, wide and bright, all teeth and dimples and punctuated by a tipsy wave of his fingers. It’s incredibly cute, almost a little sexy in its charm.

Tenzou remains frozen by the doorway, unsure of how to respond.

He settles for a nod, and a very slight quirk of his lips before he turns and leaves.

“Recognize someone?” Kakashi asks, and Tenzou realize that he had paused in the door for too long.

“Familiar face from a while back,” Tenzou answers, answer dismissive.

If Kakashi doesn’t believe his answer, he certainly doesn’t show it.

*

When morning comes, Tenzou sits up in bed and looks over at Kakashi, fast asleep. Tenzou looks out the window, taking stock of the slightly chilled mist that had settled over the streets during the night. He gets out of bed, gets dressed and quietly slips out to take a walk in the empty streets.

There are only a few stores that are open this early, mainly the bakeries and the vegetable and fruit market, where merchants in carts roll into Konoha with their supplies from the farms further out. Tenzou walks past them, filling his lungs with cool air that doesn’t taste sandy and gritty, and doesn’t make his nose twitch or leave an unpleasant aftertaste at the back of his throat. 

He picks up coffee along the way, feet carrying him through streets lined with quiet households, still counting the last few minutes of sleep before the start of the day.   
  
Tenzou stops in front of a corner building and realises he’s staring up at an apartment he has spent the good chunk of the past several weeks not thinking about. Iruka’s window is open, and Tenzou looks up at it, trying to get the pull at the back of his head to ease, and tells himself that he’s here now and he doesn’t have to go up, doesn’t ever need to knock anymore; that he is capable to standing in that very spot and can control the urge to want to knock; that his will is strong. Tenzou doesn’t know how long he stands there for, as still as the mist that slowly fades as the sun begins to rise a little higher, painting the skies a lighter blue. He must look foolish, standing in the middle of the road, staring up at a building and not doing anything, not even trying to hide his presence. Tenzou almost convinces himself to walk away, bringing the cup of coffee up to his lips.   
  
But then, a hand fumbles over the window sill and Iruka’s head pokes out of the window, hair sticking in all possible directions. Tenzou thinks he should turn and go now, and leave Iruka to handle what looks like a hangover before Iruka sees him, but then Iruka stops dead just before he slides the glass shut, wide eyed, looking down at Tenzou. Tenzou watches as Iruka makes a comical face of disbelief, rubs an eye and blinks several times at the sight of him. Tenzou doesn’t realize how he’s taken to grinning in the middle of the street, because it’s fascinating, how Iruka’s face can morph into a hundred different expressions, all of them different from the other — Iruka easily has the most expressive face Tenzou has ever encountered. 

It’s ridiculous, being able to show that much. 

(And not being afraid or even a touch hesitant to be that open. It’s almost brave.) 

Tenzou raises his cup of coffee in question, which Iruka responds to by pointing at himself and then tips his head in invitation questioningly. Something in the back of Tenzou’s mind tells him that he should walk in the opposite direction for the hundredth time, that he most certainly should not accept that invitation, even when his hands are itching to card through long,silky hair, to feel the ridges of scars that are small and very old, which lines Iruka’s side, and to taste warm skin and lips under his tongue. Tenzou looks at his coffee again, no longer as hot, but still pleasantly warm and ignores the voice warning him to go, as he leaps off the ground. He lands by Iruka’s window, dropping to a careful crouch, elbow resting on pressed together knees as Iruka drops back on his bed, reaches forward and takes the cup of coffee from Tenzou’s hand.

Tenzou watches with a huff of amusement, grin dissolving to a smirk as Iruka drinks his coffee, humming in his throat, uncaring that he’s drinking from a half empty cup. Iruka’s hair is damp and unbrushed, a towel hanging over the edge of the bed. Even with Tenzou standing by the open window, and a good three feet of distance between them, he can smell that familiar orange tang, and underlying sweeter warmth of cinnamon — Tenzou inhales, fills his lungs with it and even with the distance between them and without touch, he can almost feel the softness of Iruka’s hair between his fingers, can almost taste his lips, how it’d be washed with the slight bitterness of coffee.

Iruka is looking at him over the rim of the cup, studying him as he takes another sip, curiosity in his gaze. The invitation is obvious in his eyes, slightly bloodshot from a night of drinking, but warm nonetheless. And Tenzou almost gives in, almost shifts in his stance to duck into the room and press his mouth against the underside Iruka’s ear like how he’s been wanting to do for a long,  _ long _ time.

The fluttering of wings in the sky above and the sharp call of a summoning hawk is the only thing that stops Tenzou from giving into the very thing his body seems to be yearning for — a last measure of control and warning that makes Tenzou’s gaze slide off Iruka briefly to look over his shoulder before he turns his attention back to Iruka. Tenzou has about ten minutes to put on the uniform and report to headquarters.

“Thank you for the coffee, I needed that,” Iruka says, waving the empty cup and setting it on the nightstand. “Would you like to come in?”

Tenzou leans forward just the tiniest bit, his face betraying none of the surprise that flares up in his chest. The last time he had been in Iruka’s apartment was a little over four months ago, when the humidity of early summer had been so thick that it misted over glass. Autumn would soon segue into winter and here Iruka is, dressed in that familiar wash worn tank top and loose gray pants, sitting cross legged and gathering damp hair to one side of his shoulder, an eyebrow cocked in his direction, the barest hint of a smile lingering around the corners of his lips.

“Are you sure?” Tenzou tilts his head, offering Iruka a way out of this arrangement, trying to gauge Iruka’s reaction, to see if he’s still interested, after not seeing Tenzou at all for over half a year. 

He watches Iruka roll off his seated position, fluid and smooth, kneeling on the bed and pressing hands against the headboard. Iruka is a little more defined, muscle cutting sharper down the length of his body, a change in his training regimen perhaps. Iruka looks really fucking good, even more beautiful than Tenzou remembers, still deceptively delicate, but Tenzou can see strength coil under golden skin, can see tendons tighten and relax when Iruka looks up at him and smiles, slow and easy, so warm and inviting.

“Wouldn’t offer if I wasn’t  interested,” Iruka points out, repeating words he had said all those months ago. 

Tenzou reaches forward then, pressing fingers into damp hair, picking a lock between his fingers and feeling smooth, silky softness slide between the pads of forefinger and thumb. The damp strands doesn’t not slide as smoothly, but satisfaction and something else that Tenzou can’t name swells in his chest when he pushes his fingers into Iruka’s hair, pressing his fingers just above the nape of Iruka’s neck, where the scalp is soft, right at the base of Iruka’s hairline that he knows makes him moan a wanton mess everytime he presses his lips to it. The flush rises slowly over Iruka’s cheeks as predicted, gentle and soft, desire blooming in Iruka’s gaze as Tenzou pulls him up a little higher, and forces him to rise from the bed. Their noses almost brush when Tenzou leans in, and watches as Iruka tilts his head just the tiniest bit.

Tenzou has five minutes.

“Maybe I’ll see you when I get back.” Tenzou leans a little closer. He can almost taste the coffee.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, ANBU-san, or you’ll hurt my feelings,” Iruka warns in jest, but it settles like a heavy weight in Tenzou’s gut anyway.

Hurt his feelings — Tenzou wouldn’t want to do that. He wouldn’t want to be the cause of grief and disappointment, not to anyone, and certainly not to Iruka. He had seen how it had crawled under Iruka’s skin, had made the cut of his bones stand out a little sharper, had dulled the color in his eyes, dampened his smile just a little bit, pressed dark circles under his eyes, and weighed down upon the corners of his lips. And while Iruka still looked beautiful, even when he looked like he was trying to keep himself from coming apart, the idea that Tenzou would be the cause of something that would contribute to him feeling anything remotely negative makes Tenzou pull back, feeling displaced, a touch confused, and a little uncomfortable.

He recovers fast, barely half a heartbeat later, as his thumb rubs small circles on Iruka’s nape.

“I’ll just make sure to fuck you extra hard then,” Tenzou answers, with a bit of a shrug. “Just the way you like it.”

“Then you better come back safe and most definitely whole, ANBU-san,” Iruka says and leans over to press lips on the underside of Tenzou’s jaw, the innuendo loud and clear, and promptly pushes Tenzou off his window, sliding the glass shut with a grin and a waggle of his fingers as Tenzou falls backwards with laugh.

Tenzou doesn’t make promises — promises are for children.

The itch at the back of his mind eases, however, as he cuts through the rooftops back to his apartment. He doesn’t know if he’ll find Iruka when he returns, but with that silent, barely perceptible nag at the back of his mind now quiet, Tenzou thinks the short and unplanned visit has served its purpose.

 

*

Kakashi is gone by the time he heads back to his apartment, sheets stripped from the bed and tossed into his laundry hamper. Tenzou makes it to ANBU headquarters with a minute to spare and finds out he’s going solo all the way to Sky to take down a target —  a former ANBU operative who had gone by the mask of Rabbit, presumed missing five years ago, last seen when she had gone on a mission to Tea, and from the report, had sold secrets to Sound. Tenzou had worked with Rabbit before, and found her to be far too unstable. Rabbit, like her mask, had been gentle, soft, her speed a great asset on the field. She looked harmless, blended into the crowd and surroundings like a wallflower, but had a temper that, sometimes, made her behave in insubordinate ways. Rabbit was his senior by five years at the time, and although his mission with her had gone without a hitch, the stories of her behavior in the field, how she questioned every command, sometimes challenged her team leader, started coming out of the woodwork the moment she had gone missing, presumably dead after a ravine fall during an escape.

Tenzou didn’t care who she was, if he had worked with her, and had even fucked her at some point — a traitor is a traitor. 

He had his orders.

No witnesses. Get rid of the body. Make it look like she never existed.

ANBU hunted their own kind.

*

Rabbit lived on a farm in the woods where the sea breeze blew in. Standing on the rooftop of the one story house in the cloak of night, Tenzou can see the sea beyond the treetops, smell the faint saltiness in the air as he lowers himself to a window and lets himself in, chakra compressed tightly and presence hidden. He walks around a pile of toys in the living room, and counts five chakra signatures in the house. 

He doesn’t have to find Rabbit, because Rabbit finds him.

The gleam of the blade under the moonlight is sharp, the scabbard worn and used, just like the one strapped on Tenzou’s back.  It presses dangerously against his neck.

“I always felt it was either going to be you or Hound that they were going to send.” The blade presses closer against Tenzou’s jugular, cutting through the fabric of his singlet. “They sent the bigger monster, it seems.”

Tenzou doesn’t answer. 

Rabbit is still strong, but Tenzou is stronger, quicker, a lot more merciless when it comes to his targets. Rabbit had dulled with time, her reflexes slower — sluggish, even — and Tenzou knows the moment he gets behind her and plunges the blade through her back, shattering the base of her spine, that he isn’t just killing Rabbit, but whatever else she carries in her belly. The gasp doesn’t even make it past her lips — not with how Tenzou holds his gloved hand over her mouth and nose, suffocating her as she shudders and go limp.

The quiet of the house remains undisturbed, as Tenzou picks her up and throws her over his shoulder. 

Except the sound of rushed, hurried footsteps makes him click his tongue and sigh. He can hear the rush of it, crunching through soil and grass as they make a break for the woods. Tenzou drops Rabbit heavily to the ground with a small roll of his eyes behind the mask, sighing deeply because this was not supposed to be this much trouble, and takes off after the witnesses — civilians, he realizes — two children, twins, not much older than two or three years old, and a man with unpolished shinobi training. It takes less than a minute to catch up with them, to corner them against a large tree where, in the dark, the man hunches protectively over his twin boys, pressing their faces against his chest. 

Not the boys, not the boys,  _ please _ not the boys, he says. 

Tenzou doesn’t listen and quickly plunges the blade right into the man’s throat, ending his stream of words that will get him nowhere at this point. And before the children can scream, he snaps their necks quickly, cleanly — nothing but a sick crunch to punctuate the end of their lives. He leaves them to slump in their father’s arms, as the man stares at him in horror in the dark. The last thing he sees before death is nothing but a silent killer in a dark cloak and red and white cat mask, almost ghostlike, with barely a sound of perceptible breath.

Tenzou gets rid of the bodies on the spot, starting with the children. He incinerates them one by one, and erases all tracks of ash and blood in the earth. He’ll get rid of the farm too, bury it under a marsh, thicken the woods around it to make it look like no one ever lived there, erase all the worn paths that no doubt would lead to the town of Kagi. But, right before he burns the body of what he assumes had been Rabbit’s husband, he catches sight of his face under the moonlight — dull brown eyes, long dark hair framing a gentle, fatherly face, tanned skin going pallid as the blood continues to leak out of his open throat, a scar cutting across his nose, blade squelching through cartilage and flesh as Tenzou begins to pull it out.

Tenzou freezes, sucking in a sharp inhale, the only sound to betray his presence, fist tightening around the hilt of his blade, hesitating for a single heartbeat at the sight before him, as everything in him spins to a halt. 

A heartbeat is too long a distraction. 

A heartbeat feels like forever.

Tezou isn’t even sure why he’s seeing what he’s seeing, why his insides suddenly turns cold like the harsh jagged peaks of Snow’s mountains, sharp and cutting deep from within.

Tenzou blinks — another heartbeat later, too goddamn long, too much of a pause, he’d be dead by now if he had an enemy on his heels — and he sees a man with with dark eyes, long dark hair, but no scar across his nose. Unfamiliar, a nobody to him, just another body count and casualty of the mission — nothing but a pretty face contorted in horror, blood hot as it runs  down his chin.

Tenzou lets out a soft exhale and yanks the blade back completely with a little more force than necessary.

The bodies burn and Tenzou covers the ground with thick crawling vines, fills a good chunk of the perimeter of the area with it, before he returns to the house and gets rid of Rabbit.

He doesn’t leave something beautiful behind in place of the house, but something dark and dank, thick with trees and coiling jagged thorns, befitting of a traitor.

Traitors, Tenzou thinks, deserve to be buried in the dark where they belong.

*

Tenzou arrives in Konoha a little before midnight, gets his report out of the way and goes straight home. He goes through the motions of washing off weeks’ worth of travel, downs two full shakers of protein shakes and takes off to the streets.

Iruka’s apartment, however, is empty. He doesn’t answer the door.

Iruka isn’t home.

He might not even be in the village, might have picked up a longer shift at the desk, or might be in someone else’s arms — it didn’t matter. Iruka isn’t home.

Tenzou doesn’t bother knocking again, and just turns to heads back to his apartment, falling into his bed and closing his eyes. 

(Tenzou isn’t disappointed that Iruka wasn’t home. He’s more disappointed that he willingly went and planned to go in the first place, the moment he had turned his back on Rabbit’s burial site.)

*

Kakashi takes one look at him, a day after Tenzou had returned from his mission, and doesn’t warn him when he pushes him down onto the bed and takes Tenzou’s cock in his mouth. Tenzou lies there, staring at the ceiling, his toes curling as Kakashi takes him all the way down, and Tenzou comes with a soft sigh, shuddering under the ceiling of that crisp evening and doesn’t resist when Kakashi starts to fuck him with lubed-up fingers, doesn’t fight him when Kakashi spreads his legs wide and fucks him into the mattress too —  quick, hard, and just what Tenzou needs to take his mind off the  _ thing _ coiling in his gut. 

It’s heavy, and a little hard to ignore, familiar like the feeling he gets when he fails a mission, and he has to stand before the Hokage and explain exactly  _ why _ he had failed, feeling nothing but malcontent for not completing the mission, disappointed, sometimes angry. It’s rare, but it’s happened in the past, and Tenzou does his best to ensure that he never makes the same miscalculation or mistake twice.

Tenzou doesn’t realize when falls asleep. Doesn’t realize he had passed out after his orgasm until he sees it vividly in his mind.

Iruka, leaning up to press lips against the underside of his jaw. 

There is no smell of cinnamon or orange, or even the very faint ink stains that clings to Iruka’s fingers. Instead, something sharp and coppery fills Tenzou’s nose, and he reaches up to grab Iruka by the hair, watches the long locks  _ curl _ around his gloved hands, and when he pulls Iruka back, he stares down at Iruka’s face, choking, throat split open, rivulets of blood dripping down his chin and chest.

Something like panic swallows him up, choking him like chemicals filling his lungs, drowning him within the small confines of a holding tank. He can taste it — bitter and viscous, sliding down his throat, and making his lungs seize. He can’t remember the last time he’s felt fear like this, when the ground underneath him couldn’t be felt, where he floats and can’t feel anything around him — just an endless darkness that feels like he’s being boxed in.

Tenzou opens his mouth to shout, to  _ breathe _ , to form the syllables of a name that doesn’t quite form.

And he sucks in a sharp breath, so  _ loud _ in the quiet of his bedroom, and finds himself staring at the light fixture of his ceiling, shadows cutting from corners. Tenzou doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, going rigidly still as he stares at the light bulb.

He blinks once and sits up slowly, movements measured, and lets out a controlled exhale. 

The careful hand that slides up his back almost makes him flinch, and Tenzou knows that Kakashi  _ knows _ . Tenzou looks over his shoulder, sees the concern on Kakashi’s face, an expression that he finds misplaced, because there really isn’t anything to be concerned about. Kakashi shouldn’t be looking like that, with something softer easing the lines around the corners of his eyes.

“There’s this teacher…” Tenzou finds himself saying, and immediately regrets it the moment the words roll off his tongue. He isn’t sure what he had hoped to achieve by explaining, or even attempting to put words to what he can’t even begin to explain. There isn’t even a  _ need _ for a fucking explanation. 

For a long moment, silence sprawls out between them as Kakashi studies Tenzou carefully.

“Do you want to tell me?” Kakashi’s voice is quiet, but it might as well have been a blade to the throat.

Tenzou brings a hand under his jaw, the same spot warm lips had pressed fucking weeks ago —  so soft, so gentle, teasing with a promise of a long night of pleasure and staggered syllables. And right underneath it, Tenzou feels the raised scab of the healing cut, where Rabbit’s blade had pressed threateningly. She should have cut his throat open; that would have ensured her time for the man and twins to get away. Tenzou doesn’t know why she  _ didn’t. _ Shouldn't even fucking care at this point, the mission is done.

“It’s nothing,” Tenzou dismisses and falls back onto the mattress, tugging the pillow under his neck and closing his eyes. “Go back to sleep, Senpai. You’ll probably have another mission soon.”

Kakashi hums and settles back on the mattress, the weight of his gaze heavy — Kakashi’s concern is misplaced. His hand comes to stroke down Tenzou’s arm, and he leans in a little closer. There’s no need for it. 

Tenzou closes his eyes but sleep doesn’t come to him till sunrise.

*

When he wakes up no less than three hours later, just as Kakashi steps out of the bathroom, half dressed and preparing coffee, Tenzou makes a decision to knock on a different kind of door, taking up Kakashi’s offer in a different kind of way.

“Senpai, do you have time this morning for a spar?” he asks, feeling a little out of his element with the question, considering he rarely asks. 

Kakashi looks at him quietly, handing him a cup of coffee before he nods. “It’s been a while since we trained together. I’m ready when you are.”

Tenzou hums, and takes a sip of his coffee.

Because fucking it out of him clearly didn’t work.

Tenzou wanted to see if beating the shit out of him in a spar would.

*

It doesn’t.

The hard fucking after does nothing either, and when the summoning hawk perches on Tenzou’s window sill later that night when Kakashi brings him dinner, Tenzou feels relief flood through him at the prospect of leaving the village for a while. 

Idle minds made for dangerous thoughts.

It’s probably a good thing that there’s nothing idle about his long and arduous mission to Grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know. Anymore. 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING. I'M PLEASED THAT SOME OF YOU WHO ARE GIVING THIS STORY A CHANCE ARE SEEING THEM AS A PAIRING OR KINDA LIKING THEM :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta. May have missed shit.
> 
> Come say hi @ tumblr: pinkcatharsis

The next time Tenzou returns home, Konoha is covered in snow. 

There used to be a running joke when he first joined ANBU, when his teammates would say that Tenzou turns to a grumpy and wet little wooden stump once the snow falls. They insinuated in good fun that it was because the trees were bare, the ground cold and wet, flora and fauna wiped from the world, and that just wouldn’t do for someone with mokuton abilities. It didn’t help that at the time, Tenzou was just starting to get comfortable with the idea that it was okay to like things just because he  _ liked _ them, to have hobbies, to indulge in little comforts, just like how Hound enjoyed his  _ Icha Icha _ series, or how Lizard liked reading comic books, or how Bear enjoyed oil painting and Falcon liked collecting shot glasses and making clay pots. Tenzou found his solace in not only watching cheesy, romantic-fantasy televisions series, but learning botany and architecture, honing his skills and turning them into art. He would walk by the children’s park and create trees in the shape of animals, or sometimes, when he had nothing to do and no missions to go on, he would go around the village and correct fallen or unstable structures, and when no one was looking, he would revive dying greenery, so that what had once been a bed of dried daisies, flourished and attracted the hummingbirds once more. The joke, Tenzou remembers, stemmed from the first time he had gone to Snow and had returned so sick that it took two weeks for him to recover from a very stubborn flu and fever.

The joke stayed and later, tree stump turned to  _ kitten _ , and if his teammates all those years ago were still around in ANBU, the friendly jibes would have started a week or so before the first snowfall.

Contrary to his former teammates’ beliefs, Tenzou actually loved winter. 

He liked to sit outside the cold crisp air, where the sun shines bright in a clear blue sky, bathing the white covered rooftops and streets in a ethereal glow that makes Konoha look a little otherworldly, a little more mystical like the fantasy genre TV shows that Tenzou still, to this day, indulges on. Konoha would smell different during winter, not quite like rainfall and not quite green, but something crisper, something that makes Tenzou tug the scarf around his neck a little tighter and burrow comfortably in its warm confines as he steps out of the Hokage tower and takes the long route back to his apartment, watching as citizens sweep snow off the street. Snow would line the streets like white pavement and there is just something quite aesthetically scenic in seeing the brown of the earth or the black of the road framed in white.

It is when Tenzou walks past the Academy playground that he sees Iruka, sitting on a swing under the shadows of a towering bare oak tree, nursing a steaming cup. Iruka’s breath mists in the shade, and when he takes a slow sip from his cup, Tenzou watches him inhale deeply and burrow a little deeper in the woolen red scarf wrapped around his neck.

This is the first time Tenzou is seeing Iruka again in weeks since he was pushed off that window, when he had hinted at a promise that wasn’t quite a promise, only to return to an empty apartment devoid of warmth and color, carrying with him a macabre picture that still flashes in his mind whenever he closes his eyes. 

Iruka is not pale, there is no horror on his face, no blood running like rivers down his chin and the mess around his throat. He is whole, and well, a wistful look on his face as he sways gently on the swing, arms looped around the ropes and staring at the sky. Tenzou takes comfort in the image before him, corrects the gruesome picture in his mind because see, he’s right there, fine, whole, cute and beautiful as ever —  _ he’s fine _ . Tenzou isn’t sure how long he stares at Iruka, how the tension he doesn’t realize he still had since that mission to Sky somehow comes undone with every second his gaze lingers. Grass had done nothing for him, and had only served to remind him of the man he wanted to see but couldn’t because he wasn’t home — the image had festered like an infection, had picked at the back of his mind in a way it shouldn’t. 

And now here he is, looking at Iruka from a distance, as something in his chest settles down, and the last of that fucking image slowly gets appeased by reality, leaving nothing but a want that Tenzou had no idea what to do with. 

Tenzou knows he should walk away, knows he should leave and consider this little distanced encounter a conclusion to the yearning he’s been carrying around his chest, a want that not even Kakashi can seem to quench. He should map a different route during his habitual walks that would take him as far as possible from the Academy grounds and not fuel the itch that makes his fingers tremble with want to touch soft hair, to trace the corners of Iruka’s lips with his fingertips, to feel skin warm under his palms.

But then Iruka meets his gaze from across the yard, and it only takes one look of surprise for all that logic and a barely half formulated plan to hush to something muted, unimportant, dismissed to the back of Tenzou’s mind, as Tenzou crosses the space between them, leaping over the fence and dropping down to the ground silently, drawn to Iruka like a moth to a flame. 

“You’re back,” Iruka says, a little breathless in his surprise, his voice muffled by the scarf around his neck.

“I am. Thinking of me?” Tenzou grins, and doesn’t betray his surprise when Iruka’s flush darkens.

“A little bit,” Iruka ducks his head, avoiding Tenzou’s gaze and looking at the empty tea cup in his hands. “I was beginning to think something had happened to you. I’m glad you’re alright.”

Tenzou hums and looks over at the Academy, tearing his gaze away from the concern — concern that makes something in him soften just the smallest bit. The place hasn’t changed much from what he remembers when he was six, save for a few paintjobs and an additional structure towards the north side of the building. Most people would feel nostalgia, standing within the grounds of where their lives as shinobi had begun, where they were first taught how to hold a weapon and where to strike, which parts of the human flesh are the most delicate, the quickest to bleed. Tenzou feels nothing but detachment, the structure before him nothing more than brick and mortar, just as Iruka  presses the teacup between his knees and brings his bare hands to his lips, warming them with a soft puff of warm air.

“What time does your shift end?” Tenzou asks, turning to look at Iruka who looks up at him in surprise.

“I’m done for the day.” Iruka sighs, gently swaying on the swing.

“Iruka-sensei must be so dedicated that he stays at the Academy even after classes are over.” Tenzou catches sight of the deepening flush as Iruka snorts in amusement, eye rolling at the joke that must have fallen flat in his ears.

“Konoha is beautiful during winter. But sometimes, when everything is so white, it makes me wish I could see a speck of green again. It seems rather unnatural, being a village hidden in leaves and to have nothing but white all around you.” Iruka chuckles a little and rubs the back of his head. “I must sound strange. It’s been a very long day.”

“Not strange at all.” Tenzou drops to a crouch by the swing, ducking further into the shadows of the tree and looks up at Iruka, staring at how the tips of his nose has turned red in the cold, how under the winter sun, Iruka's Eyes still shines with little specks of gold. Tenzou thinks he can look at him all day, can watch him sit and drink his tea in the cold and he wouldn’t even feel the winter. He goes still as Iruka reaches out to brush fingers along the spiky tips of his hair, watching how something a little softer momentarily flashes in Iruka’s gaze. The touch is lingering, almost shy before Iruka withdraws his hand and Tenzou finds himself standing, tugging Iruka up from the swing and wrapping an arm around his waist, a palm pressing against the winter flushed cheek, snaking under the fold of the scarf to press on the edges of Iruka’s hairline.

Touching Iruka  like this almost feels enough. 

“How inappropriate, ANBU-san,” Iruka says, but doesn’t quite step away.

“Is that a legitimate complaint?” Tenzou challenges, and carefully loosens his hold, shifts his foot back.

“No,” Iruka murmurs as he steps forward, closing the gap between their bodies, tilting his head and whispers, “You should be careful though. Or you’ll give me the impression that you actually miss me.”

It’s like a sobering punch to the face and everything in Tenzo turns skids to a grinding halt, gaze unwavering as Iruka looks at him with something quiet that slowly turns to understanding. It dulls the light in his eyes just a little bit, murks the rich shade of brown and tucks away the gold as something that might have been resignation softens his expression. Tenzou isn’t even sure how to respond to the statement, especially when the logic suddenly clicks into place — the reason he can’t stop thinking of Iruka, why his mind keeps going back to the warm scent of his skin, the soft silkiness of Iruka’s hair falling through his fingers, why he keeps searching for Iruka’s presence in the people he’s with, Tenzou’s fingers always reaching out for his warmth, trying to feel him when he touches Kakashi. 

Tenzou can’t believe how stupid — how  _ foolish  _ —  he’s been. 

The logic is  _ simple _ .

It’s a biological and dare he say, an animalistic need that he knows all humans possess, a part of him that not even ROOT could erase. It’s primal, a necessity he needs to fulfill, built in to every man and woman’s DNA. There is nothing special about the want or need. His body misses Iruka. His body  _ prefers _ Iruka. Like how sometimes, Tenzou prefers the extra crunch of roasted walnuts as opposed to raw walnuts. Or how sometimes, he craves the sour after taste of hibiscus tea to the slight bitterness of black tea and fresh mint. 

Tenzou didn’t bother to analyze the situation the way he would a mission, didn’t try to eliminate factors, or try to understand the crux of the matter, when he should have from the moment he knocked on Iruka’s door the second time. It should have been so fucking obvious, this craving of his, what it actually meant. Tenzou already knows resisting the craving will do nothing; the solution to this kind of need is to saturate it, get his body use to it, like building immunity to certain poisons until he grows immune to the need all together and it wouldn’t even matter if Iruka is near or far.

Tenzou sucks in a slow breath, fills his lungs with that warm scent of oranges and cinnamon. It almost feels liberating, to have that scent drown his senses. He doesn’t realize up until then, just how much he truly craved for Iruka, how deep his body’s need went.

“Is that an issue?” Tenzou asks, and snakes his cold fingers further under Iruka’s scarf, feeling the thrum of his racing pulse under his fingers. It’s warm and solid, not weakening or dulling to a barely palpable beat. His neck is whole and skin soft, slender and as beautiful as Tenzou remembers. But then Iruka is suddenly looking at him wide eyed, confused, caught off guard, mild alarm in his gaze that makes something  _ flare _ in irritation in Tenzou’s gut, because Tenzou remembers the man that he assumed had been Rabbit’s spouse, suddenly can see him so vividly begging for the twins’ life, how his eyes had been as wide as Iruka’s, dulling under the pale moonlight that could barely permeate through the towering palm trees.

Tenzou blinks once, chasing the image away and watches as Iruka brings a hand up, fingers resting on Tenzou’s forearm and very carefully, pulls cold fingers away from the warmth of his neck.

“Well,” Iruka sounds careful, unsure, as the flush darkens over his cheeks and he looks away. “It’s up to you, isn’t it?”

_ I’m not the one who has to remain anonymous _ , is what Tenzou hears.

Tenzou releases Iruka and takes a step back, fingers remaining lax by side when the sudden urge to ball them to fists rises — every fiber of Tenzou’s being tells him to walk away for the upteenth time, that this is a craving that he probably shouldn’t indulge on any longer, want and need be damned. That Iruka is giving off all the telltale signs of attachment, that the anonymity can only lasts so long because Iruka isn’t ANBU. It’s a stretch to expect him to understand what is expected of ANBU, to tolerate it when Iruka has been nothing but open to him. Tenzou is aware that whatever mutual agreement he may have with Iruka now is present only because Iruka allows it, that it is nothing compared to the years worth of understanding Tenzou had with Kakashi, years of blood and gore staining their armor and gloves, of no words spoken in between and the ease of being able to read each other, know just how to touch, or grab, strangle and push, or when to just sit silently next to each other, with drinks and a meal between them. Tenzou had unmatchable levels of respect for Kakashi that Iruka would take a lifetime to even match, if at all. Tenzou should let it go, let this little fling be nothing but a sweet memory to keep him warm at night when he wraps a fist around his cock if need be.

Tenzou keeps his face blank, even when one logical argument over the other at how impractical this is tries to drown out the one very small voice that still somehow reaches forward for Iruka, wants to command Tenzou’s hands that momentarily balls into fists, to press against that beautiful face, feel soft hair between his fingers once more and press his chin against his collarbone, drown in that scent a little more — give into his craving. It’s that little voice that had always asked for help beyond the curved glass of his holding tank, a tiny thing that always tried to see and strain to hear beyond the dark for anyone who may pass by, the weakest part of him that he had thought ROOT had gotten rid off —  _ anyone there _ , it would say? 

(No one ever was.)

Little boys with no sense of how bleak the world really is beyond the bitterness of chemicals and glass should simply remain quiet, Tenzou thinks. Danzou had been right about that. It would only get in the way of his mission.

Tenzou doesn’t reach forward, even as his fists uncurl and he pushes his hands into his pockets.

Iruka gives him a polite smile, guarded and careful, the same one he had given Tenzou when Iruka had ran into him in the street just a little after Sandaime’s funeral. It had been distant, touching on impersonal compared to the ones Tenzou is a little more familiar with, if only because he’s seen the brilliance of it, how it can light up the dark with mischief and mirth, made the warmth  _ curl _ in Tenzou’s gut and the urge to surrender his control and lean forward to kiss Iruk’s lips win over. Those fun smiles are the kind that made that  _ silly _ little boy in him press hands against the glass. It fueled false hope.

(Because no one comes. Ever.)

Iruka murmurs something about heading back inside to pack up, and side steps Tenzou to cross the yard.

And suddenly, Tenzou’s fists tighten again in his pockets, as he listens to Iruka’s footsteps move further and further away, watches how the object of his craving put distance between them and that little voice — that tiny, quite irritating voice that really needs to shut the fuck up — in him  _ flares _ , makes his mouth open, fists banging on curved glass, yellow-green air bubbles rising to the top of the tank, wires thrashing.

“I thought teachers don’t get sent out on missions when the Academy is in session,” Tenzou says, his voice loud in the quiet of the school playground.

Iruka’s footsteps suddenly stops. “They don’t.”

Tenzou didn’t need to turn to see the confusion on Iruka’s face. “I came to you. And you weren’t there.” Tenzou still remembers the sight of the darkened apartment, how empty it had been. And in the dark with the shadows spilling like black ink on the walls and floors, it had felt cold, almost as impersonal as an ANBU field operative’s apartment. The emptiness felt nothing like Iruka at all.

“When?” Iruka asks voice a little tight.

“Five weeks ago, on the twenty-second. You were gone.” Tenzou says, giving voice to the question that’s been plaguing him for the longest time.

“Be careful with your words and tone, ANBU-san,” Iruka says, and that makes Tenzou turn to find Iruka looking at him with a hardened expression on his face, a frown etched between his brows. It’s the first time he’s seeing that expression, how sharp it makes Iruka’s jaw look, how the tendons around his neck pull tight. “You don’t get to accuse me like that. It isn’t your place, no matter what your rank is. My door is open to you so long as  _ I _ keep it open. I know my place.  You should know yours.” 

“It’s not an accusation,” Tenzou clarifies, taken aback by the reaction before it sinks in — he  _ is  _ questioning Iruka. 

Any shinobi worth their salt would realise the fucking difference. 

“Then you must think me an idiot to not know when I’m being questioned.” Iruka throws him an irritated look, the flush no longer shy, but more tied to his mounting temper. “Good day, ANBU-san.”

Iruka turns around and heads back towards the building entrance, leaving Tenzou there standing by the swing, with heat curling deep within him. The outright dismissal for Tenzou’s rank and questioning, the way Iruka had stood his ground unflinchingly, unintimidated by Tenzou’s blank gaze and quiet tone, unthreatened by the fact that he is ANBU, makes something in Tenzou flare. It’s hot and impressed, filling his blood with a sudden rush of adrenalin that makes his lips curl up lopsidedly, open to anyone who may see, right there in the middle of the Academy grounds. Tenzou looks up at the sky, chuckling to himself as the arousal flares — it’s almost a little disgusting, being turned on by a dismissal. 

It’s twisted, even. 

“So am I to assume you’re telling me to fuck off?”  Tenzou calls out, pinning Iruka’s receding back with a gaze across the yard. 

Iruka hesitates visibly, palm paused over the door handle before throws Tenzou an irritated glare. “If you want to fuck me tonight, you’ll have to buy me dinner first.”

Tenzou’s grin feels unnaturally foreign on his lips. The relief in his chest, even more so. “I know a place nearby.”

*

The place is a little hole in a wall establishment two streets in from Tea Avenue. It had low ceilings, wooden tables and chairs that tilted due to its unevenness and faded posters hanging on the walls of specials that Iruka guessed aren’t really on the menu anymore. Beyond the counter, two men manned the pots, and the wok, while another juggled between refilling the steamer with pre-prepared dumplings and serving the patrons. The only thing that didn’t look old in the place is the wall on the left side, wood polished and new, unscratched and unmarred by old tape and posters — repairs then, likely a necessity in the wake of Orochimaru’s attack.

The menu isn’t even too big, and Iruka settles for gyoza and bowl of oyakodon. ANBU-san had quirked an eyebrow at him, and proceeded to order double the portions, throwing in a bottle of sake.

It’s hard to have a conversation with someone when your relationship circles purely on sex and absolutely nothing else. Iruka certainly doesn’t bother with small talk, doesn’t fuss with trying to get to know the stranger across from him because there certainly isn’t anything remotely proper about what he was doing to begin with. Engaging in hours and hours of rough sex with a man with nothing more than a red mark on his arm and no name certainly isn’t something a smart person would do, and most certainly not something Iruka normally would even think of doing. It absolutely isn’t becoming of a respectable and over all liked Academy instructor. Opening his door to a virtual stranger - and keeping it open nonetheless - is like him getting on his knees and  _ begging _ for trouble. Walking down the street with him made Iruka feel like an escort for hire.

Deep down, a part of Iruka knows that he had long ago thrown caution to the wind the moment that fuuma shuriken had planted its sharp edge into his spine. Deep down, Iruka knows that he needs the anonymity, craves the roughness, the burn and  _ ache _ that lingers for days because it made him feel something a little more real than the yawning emptiness that continues to stretch in his chest a year after the incident with Naruto and then once more, just a little under seven months ago. The latter, Iruka knows, is fate just fucking with him. Iruka knows that feeling something a little more real, a little more solid, made the horrid pain of betrayal seem a little more bearable. Because getting fucked over by a real, anonymous person, made more sense. Iruka would be able to process that particular equation a lot easier and blaming himself for it would actually be justified.

The truth is, Iruka doesn’t know where or when it all started to go wrong with Mizuki. He’s not even sure of the why aspect of it. 

(Or so Iruka tells himself, an act of denial to the dangerous green monster that Mizuki carried around him. A monster that Iruka would sometimes catch a glimpse off through his rose tinted glasses, because Mizuki surely didn’t mean it. His temper, his envy, sometimes sharp cutting words, it all came with the stress of the job. It’s the funny thing about love. You forgive over and over again, the lines between right and wrong suddenly blurring until it disappears completely.)

Iruka had loved and was loyal to Mizuki, because even when he had nothing, he had Mizuki. For as long as he can remember after the Kyuubi attack, it had always been Iruka and Mizuki, the dynamic duo, troublemakers of the classroom, best friends, and then later, something more. Even when Iruka fumbled with puberty, when the urges got too strong, he hadn’t been alone.

The truth is, Mizuki was the reason Iruka believed that family didn’t just mean bonds by blood, but can be something more. Mizuki is the reason why Iruka taught his students, that just because you didn’t have family anymore, it didn’t mean you were alone, that your brother and sister could  just be the person sitting next to you. Iruka never fully understood Sandaime when he said that everyone in Konoha was family, not when people looked at orphans like they were a burden to a society that was still recovering from a catastrophic loss in the wake of the Kyuubi’s attack. Iruka knew well what it felt like to not have his existence be acknowledged — Mizuki changed that the moment he had reached out to him one day at lunch break in the Academy and had said, hey, you wanna come and play our game?

Iruka had given Mizuki almost every part of him that he knew how to give.

The truth is, a part of Iruka knew that he was giving far too much. He just didn’t know how much of himself he had given away until it all disappeared as not just a betrayal to him, but to Konoha as well, leaving Iruka with an emptiness so vast and a wound so deep that the days he had spent in the hospital having his tissues regenerated, the agony of it, was nothing compared to excruciating loss from within. 

One day, Iruka thought he had the world.

Then one day, he didn’t. 

The shitty thing about the whole ordeal too, is that  _ everything  _ still reminds him of Mizuki. He would have ordered gyoza at a place like this too, Iruka realizes, as bitterness wells in his throat like bile.

Sandaime told him one day over tea that there’s not a single person in existence who didn’t suffer one bad betrayal in their lifetime. That the trick is to not let it destroy one’s trust in others. Don’t let him take that away from you too, Iruka, Sandaime had said, looking far too old and frail for a man who is perceived as someone far too large by the village. Years later, Iruka wonders if what he felt was what the Sandaime had felt when he realised his student prodigy had turned against the entire village.

The truth is, Iruka isn’t sure how to forget, or how to trust anyone intimately anymore — how do you trust again when the one closest to you, the one who had been the most intimate with you, made you believe a lie that had defined a good portion of your life?

“Is it that bad?” ANBU-san suddenly asks, and Iruka blinks up at from the gyoza he had poised between his chopsticks to look at the quirked eyebrow. 

“Oh, no, it’s quite good.” Iruka shakes his head and takes a bite off. When ANBU-san doesn’t look convinced, Iruka slides the plate over a little bit. “Would you like to try some?”

“Thank you, but no, I’m good.” ANBU-san shakes his head and they finish the rest of their meals in relative silence.

Iruka doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s doing, or what he plans to even achieve by remaining in this man’s company. A part of him feels disgust curl at what he’s reduced himself to, an almost promiscuous life filled with pleasures of the flesh that only seems to feel so incredibly good when it marked and ached and lingered on his skin for days. When the lingering taste of strangers is the only thing that helps him fall asleep.

So long as it didn’t interfere with his duty to the village, Iruka could care less what happened to him physically or emotionally — after all, Iruka doubts he could feel hurt more than he already did. Mizuki had pieced his life together when Iruka didn’t even know how. It only made sense in an almost poetic way that he’d be the one to destroy it. 

*

Iruka didn’t want love. Not the romantic kind, anyway.

Romantic love, he thinks, is an illusion people conjures up so they can delude themselves into thinking that they are worth something. That to see themselves in the eyes of someone else would mean that they weren’t just dispensable soldiers in the grand scheme of things.

Romantic love was a lie, and at most, people would end up just really liking each other before they get tired of each other and go their separate ways. He certainly wasn’t going to get that kind of love — or  _ any _ kind of of love, for that matter —  from the strangers he allowed to use his body. Almost two years later, it hasn’t changed.

If Iruka wanted love, he had his duty and his students; children, he knows, won’t go for the softest parts of you under the uniform, even those who turn their backs to the village and put holes in their teammates chest with a fistful of lightning.

They won’t aim for it, because even when you love them and they love you, they don’t really  _ know _ you. 

Iruka is okay with that.

*

The moment the door and lock clicks shut, Iruka is pinned to the wall nearest wall and stripped off his clothing. It’s what he likes about this man, how eager he always is, how  _ hungry _ and needy his hands and mouth are even when is always silent. Iruka lets him do what he wishes, allows ANBU-san to spin him around, pin his chest to the wall as a warm hand snakes around his hip, fingers spreading over the bare skin of his lower abdomen, curling around his cock as Iruka arches his back, brushing his bare ass against the full swell of this handsome stranger’s cock. Iruka can’t stop the shuddering sudden cry that leaves him when his wrist is  _ slammed _ up over his head, pinned against the wall, how it fucking  _ hurts _ . ANBU-san’s other hand grabs the fist Iruka had planted against the door, forces it open with his fingers and wraps it around Iruka’s cock, guiding it in long, slow strokes that leaves Iruka panting, a dripping mess and arching his back further against the cock that he wants in him.

“So,” ANBU-san murmurs, breath hot against Iruka’s ear as he releases the hold he had on Iruka’s fingers and slowly caresses the swell of Iruka’s ass before retreating. “How often do you get serviced this way?”

“Serviced?” Iruka hisses and gasps when he feels slick fingers press against the tight ring of muscle. “Are you fucking kidding —  _ ahhh! _ ”

The finger pushes in and curls and Iruka is helpless against the door, as ANBU-san pushes against his back, kicking one of Iruka’s feet further apart and forcing Iruka to support himself on the door with his chest and shoulders and very weakened footing. Iruka can’t think, can’t hear the words that rumbles out of the man behind him, holding him in this spread out and very vulnerable position. It won’t take much to snap Iruka’s neck, won’t even take that much of force to plant a chakra induced punch against his spine, snap his back in half, render him paralyzed. Iruka grits his teeth and  _ moans _ when the fingers on his pinned forearm tightens. The pain throbs down the length of his arm, goes right into his weeping cock, already dripping a mess of precum on the floor, smudging a sticky mess against Iruka’s belly and the door. And all Iruka can think of, in the wake of the pain lacing down his arm and the finger that withdraws and suddenly  _ pushe _ s back into him, so uncaring, so rough, numbing his mind to something quiet and a blissful blank of thoughtlessness, is yes,  _ gods yes _ , _ more _ .

“How often, Iruka-sensei?” ANBU-san asks again, firm, almost commanding, gravel in his throat as he pushes back again one more time, down to the hilt of his finger, that Iruka hikes up against the door.

“Every weekend!” Iruka cries out and lets go of his own cock to slap a fist against the wall just as another finger joins the first and it’s all he can do to form words to tell the asshole of an ANBU to shut the fuck up.

“Do they just show up at your door?” The fingers move slowly, in and out, a slow and gentle slick motion that makes Iruka reach behind hold onto something warm. His fingers grapples at nothing but air and when those fingers curl in him, and when they brush against the soft bundle of muscle and nerves, Iruka can’t stop the breathless cry from leaving him, those grappling fingertips gripping at the door, balling to a tight fist, as his jaw goes slack and helpless moans spill out of his throat. Shame burns high on Iruka’s cheekbones, embarrassment at being reduced to this mess of a needy man, legs spread and hips arching higher up, pushing back against those fingers because, gods, he wants more. He  _ needs _ more. 

“Damnit — ”

“Do they?” He asks again, a hot tongue brushing over the curve of Iruka’s ear.

Iruka opens his mouth to respond and nothing spills out, not when those lips wrap around the shell of his ear, when it drags down a hot line from his ear to the side of his neck, snapping onto soft flesh right under his ear, teeth peeking between lips and sinking into Iruka’s skin. Iruka can’t think, can’t come up with an answer. The fingers stop, pulls back completely, leaving him empty just as teeth releases his neck and Iruka shakes with a gasp.

“No — ” Iruka groans, forehead pressing against the door as he pants for breath.

“Are you sure?” 

Iruka shakes his head, and that it had probably looked like a no because then Iruka is crying out when the stranger’s cock starts to push into him, slow and almost agonizing as it splits him open. Iruka can’t stop the scream from tearing out of his throat, can’t even resist when he sees stars, the fingers that had been pressing his arm against the door lets go, that hot palm pressing against Iruka’s mouth instead, muffling the scream that tapers to a soft and breathless cry as that cock sinks into him. The stranger pulls his hand away, wrenches it off Iruka’s mouth and leaves Iruka panting and almost sobbing with how good it feels, barely able to keep himself upright as every nerve in his body ignites with a fire that Iruka is so sure is going to burn him alive.

This is the exact reason he liked this man, why he had hoped this active field ANBU would keep coming back to him. ANBU-san made sure it hurt, made sure that Iruka had no time in between to think of all his yesterdays, of green eyes and silver hair, of a smile that Iruka loved that always morphed to a sneer, so full of of hate. So full of bitterness and cruelty.

Iruka jolts with the first sharp thrust, eyes scrunching as he sobs out a groan, shaking his head as everything around him dissolves to hush, dark and quiet and there’s nothing that exist beyond that hard cock seated so deep in his ass an the hot, heavy breaths against his beck. Iruka jolts again when the sharp thrusts rocks him forward, the hand on his hip bruising, hurting, and so,  _ so _ good.

“Answer me, Sensei,” He groans, deep and throaty, and gods, he sounds incredibly hot when he’s trying to keep control of himself, trying to stay quiet — Iruka bites his lower lip, shaking as he tries to scramble for words in the pleasured numbness of his mind.

“I’m sure — no one — I pick them up — at the bar — ” Iruka  _ cries _ out, expletives spilling from his mouth, as thrust after thrust gets punctuated by a breathless fuck, fuck,  _ fuck! _ And suddenly, the cock is gone and Iruka can’t stop how his body buckles, how the hands on his hips are the only thing that keeps him upright when he begs, with only two syllables, “ _ ANBU-san _ …”

The sudden shift makes Iruka sees stars, as he is brutally spun around, back slammed against the door and legs lifted off the ground, wrapped around the man’s waist as that cock slams back up and into him, Iruka’s shoulder blades rubbing and digging against the grain of the wood, arms clinging and wrapping around broad shoulders, fingers fisting into short and soft hair. 

“Iruka,” he says, growling the words out against Iruka’s lips. Iruka doesn’t know what that means, can barely comprehend the weight of it when he’s got that long and thick cock slamming up into him, driving him up the wall and filling the walls of his apartment with the sound of Iruka’s wanton cries. “If I’m going to keep coming to you, you’re not going to say ANBU-san anymore.”

Fingers press against Iruka’s forehead, pinning his head against the door and forcing him to focus at the dark gaze before him, pupils blow wide, darkened with lust that it’s like looking at a pool of spilled ink. Iruka always thought his ANBU had incredibly beautiful eyes, framed by thick and long lashes that curls and dark naturally shaped brows, so fucking incredibly handsome that it takes but one look from those eyes to make the desire in Iruka ignite. His thrusts come to a stop and Iruka stares at him, lips slack as his lungs heaves with breath. 

“What?” Iruka asks, and curses viciously when he realizes what’s going on. “Are we really having this discussion now?” 

“People are honest when they’re either in pain or pleasure,” Tenzou says, quiet and almost soft. “If I’m going to keep coming to you, I can’t risk having others seeking you out.” Tenzou rolls his hips forward and Iruka shakes in his arms, gritting his teeth as his eyes widen at that realization. “Is that a problem for you?”

“You’re hardly in the fucking village!” Iruka snaps, and gets a hand wrapped around his throat for his efforts. The slight firm hold that doesn’t quite choke off Iruka’s air makes the need and desperation twist in Iruka’s belly, so unbearable, that Iruka can’t stop the throaty whine from leaving him — squeeze it, Iruka thinks, as he waits with bated breath for those fingers to tighten. He isn’t even sure where this reasoning is coming from, because it didn’t matter. Whoever it was Iruka went to bed with for the weekend, it was just a means to be able to sleep for a few hours straight.

“And you’re the flavor of the season. A means to scratch my itch until I no longer need you. I’m not asking for your fealty to me, Sensei. Just your discretion and your silence,” He says and presses closer, tongue darting out to lick at Iruka’s kiss swollen lips. “We done pointing out the obvious here?”

It should have hurt, the words should have burned hotter than fire against his skin, cruel and callous as they are in their delivery. Iruka thinks he should feel used, lower than scum even, for allowing his pride to tolerate this. But what comes instead is a relief so great that Iruka can’t stop the breathless laugh from bubbling out of his lungs. It tapers off to a moan when that cock grinds up into him again, making Iruka suck in a sharp breath through gritted teeth, lips pulling back to a slow and debauched grin.

The decision was already made before the man had asked. It’s not like Iruka was lying when he said he  _ preferred  _ him over whoever he picked up at the bar, that if Iruka had a choice, he’d always pick him. Iruka had been perfectly serious with his offer, had hoped that his mysterious ANBU would take him up on the offer.

(If he had felt a little bit of disappointment at not seeing him as often, Iruka chalked it up to frustration at not really finding someone who was willing to get gritty and dirty with him when fucking, when most of the partners he ends up with was either always being considerate of the pretty faced Academy teacher or just didn’t care about what Iruka wanted at all. It wasn’t satisfying enough — not until this man, anyway.)

Iruka doesn’t blame him for being suspicious or wary of an offer so casually thrown in his direction. Iruka doesn’t even blame him for making the request at all — ANBU had a reputation anyway, even when they weren’t wearing their white masks. 

“Moral compass pointing in the right direction. Great, I’m sold. Now stop talking and fuck me!” Iruka hisses, and leans forward to devour that grinning mouth.

A grin that doesn’t go away at all as Iruka is pushed higher up against the wall, legs spread obscenely wide and that cock begins to pound into him. Iruka watches with a dazed gaze, staggered cries ripping past his throat as he rolls his hips with the motions of the brutal pace, that grin turning to something sharper, teeth gritting as every muscle in his body is pulled taut, skin flushed with the effort of fucking Iruka. Just watching him tilt his head back, exhaling deeply and still remaining so incredibly quiet is enough to make Iruka’s body tighten, orgasm but a breath away, fingers gripping the soft cropped hair and digging into that broad back.

“ANB—“ Iruka wants to warn, tell him to slow down because Iruka is not going to last like this. The words are muffled with a hand, the sudden slap of it onto Iruka’s mouth almost as loud as the hot and slick slap of their flesh. 

“Shhhh,” the rough and almost breathless command for silence comes, and Tenzou leans closer, pulling his hand away to press a finger over Iruka’s lips, watching Iruka’s lower lip tremble as he pants and his fingers dig deeper into his back. 

Iruka is fucking beautiful like this, needy and wild, spread and wanting and all decorum forgotten. Iruka’s eyes are bright, and while they are normally a little brighter than most ninjas Tenzou know, there’s always something guarded, like Iruka is too afraid to show parts of himself unless he’s spread wide open like this, and Tenzou is wrenching everything out of him, forcing that hidden brightness out with each exhale, and each wanton cry. 

Iruka trembles in his arms, eyes sliding shut as Tenzou slows his thrusts, pushing into the wonderfully tight body slowly, almost gently, Iruka’s short cries softens to something sensual, almost languid, dissolving to soft  _ groans.  _ Tenzou thinks he could come watching Iruka like this, can stay warm and satiated for long nights just with the image of Iruka looking at him like this, eyes parting a sliver and lips quivering under his fingertips. Tenzou thinks he’d like to hear Iruka say the only name he knows, would like to see how Iruka’s tongue would press against his teeth when he forms the first syllable, and how his lips would curve around the second syllable.

“Tenzou,” the name comes out, soft and brushed against the finger still keeping Iruka’s lips hushed, just as Tenzou grinds up and watches as Iruka’s lips part wider with a trebling and breathless gasp, flush spreading all the way down his stomach — fuck,  _ fuck _ , Tenzou doesn’t know how long he can keep watching him like this without coming. “You can call me Tenzou.”

The moment Tenzou sees the dawning realization and understanding in Iruka’s eyes, he pulls his hand back from those incredibly kissable lips and cards them up, sweeping Iruka’s bangs and hair off his forehead as he thrusts back into the tight heat of Iruka’s body, pressing their foreheads together and looking into Iruka’s eyes as the breath starts come out of Tenzou’s lips in short, sharp exhales through gritted teeth.

Iruka comes with his name tumbling breathlessly out of his lips, beautiful and shuddering and the corners of his mouth slack into an almost smile of blissful relief, cum squirting out of him in thick hot ribbons, cock bobbing as Tenzou thrusts in harder, shorter, faster until Tenzou is coming too, long and so hard, that his knees almost buckle under his and Iruka’s weight. The orgasm almost blinds him, the echo of those syllables still ringing in his ears as he lets out a sharp and guttural  _ groan _ , palm letting go of Iruka’s hair to slam against the door, hard, loud, the suddenness of it cutting through the sounds of their harsh breaths filling the small apartment. 

“ _ Tenzou _ …” Iruka breathes, a hand coming up to press against the side of Tenzou’s neck.

And in the space of a heartbeat and a breath, Tenzou almost believes his name is real.

*

Before Tenzou leaves for his next mission, he leaves a small potted plant by Iruka’s window, a tiny glimpse of green in the stretch of white beyond the glass. 

Chamomile, Tenzou had picked, for patience, because winters do end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blaaaaaarghhhhhh I dunno what I'm writing half the time. But Tenzou <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [Sub_textual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual). Check out her stuff, she's great! She was also great enough to write a bit of Kakashi for me in this chapter :)
> 
>  
> 
>   
> **EXTRA LONG CHAPTER -- HAPPY BIRTHDAY IRUKA-SENSEI~ ONE DAY EARLY BUT YAY STILL!**  
> 

****Iruka doesn’t become a habit. He becomes an addiction.

Tenzou knows that he shouldn’t be cultivating what this thing is with Iruka, because he knows that an over indulgence of something, no matter how harmless or pure or innocent it may be, can intoxicate. Iruka is the first thought on his mind the moment he steps into the village, and the last when he steps out. They’re little harmless thoughts, mostly amusing, fond memories of their time together; Tenzou knows it all stems from his attraction.

(Tenzou finds it strange that Iruka remains remains unattached and single, and doesn’t have a flock of suitors pursuing his affections, when he’s so incredibly beautiful.)

Coming to find Iruka becomes part of Tenzou’s routine. It had been so easy to settle into, that Tenzou wonders why the fuck he didn’t do it earlier, why he had even resisted. If he had just started this months ago, he’d be over Iruka by now — months worth of time wasted in frustration, when he could have put himself in the path of a solution a lot earlier. He is more focused, a lot more clear headed now that the nagging thoughts and yearning don’t plague him relentlessly.

On long nights when Tenzou’s missions take him away from the village for days, when he looks up at the sky during his travel breaks, he thinks of how Iruka looks like when he steps out of the shower, towel tightly wrapped around his hips, skin flushed from hot water. He thinks of how Iruka would sit on the edge of the bed and run a brush through his hair, a slight wince on his features, a mild limp in his step, Tenzou’s fingers decorating the length of his body, large red marks lined with teeth smattering over his shoulders, neck, hip, and back. Tenzou discovers that he thoroughly enjoys marking Iruka — perhaps a little much — if only because Tenzou’s name always hitches at the tip of Iruka’s tongue, breathless and so soft, a secret not meant to be said out loud. It’s the way Iruka tries to be quiet, the way he tries to safeguard the identity of a stranger who comes to him at any given opportunity for a hard fuck, the sheer attempt at allegiance to a system when everything in Iruka is coming apart, when Tenzou tears it off him piece by piece with each thrust, each harsh bite that sometimes breaks skin — it’s the honor of silence that Iruka tries so very hard to maintain in passion, when he _can’t_.

There had been a time when Iruka bit into Tenzou’s shoulder so hard that it bled, leaving a fussing, nervous mess of a teacher afterwards, when he realized just how awful the mark was — swollen and ugly, teeth impressions sunken deep into Tenzou’s flesh, a bright red beacon in a sea of old scars.

Iruka had seen it after a shower, when Tenzou had tugged him over his lap on the couch and started kissing him, already eager to have him again. Iruka had pulled back so sharply, brushing the back of his hand over his mouth to sever the line of saliva between them, and stared at the mark with shame and embarrassment burning high on his cheeks. Tenzou remembers how wide his eyes had been, how his face had crumbled in guilt. Tenzou had watched him swallow, had watched Iruka’s pupils dart left and right as he looked at Tenzou a lot closer, trying to see what other damage he may have inflicted, as he gently pressed the tips of his fingers against the hideous bite mark just above Tenzou’s left collarbone. It had been so tender that the gentle brush of fingers had Tenzou stiffening just the smallest bit. It had not gone unnoticed by Iruka.

“I’m so sorry,” Iruka had said, voice thick and repentant, and carefully begins to channel chakra into the bite, to ease the swelling and punctured skin.

Tenzou had clamped a hand on his wrist so fast, that Iruka had gone rigidly still on his lap. “It’s alright, leave it,” Tenzou had said and brought another hand up to cup the side of Iruka’s face, smiling a little lopsidedly at the bewildered expression on Iruka’s face.

“Tenzou-san, it looks really bad.”

“Then you should learn to control yourself a little more, learn to be quieter instead of biting poor me.” Tenzou pointed out, and snorted a soft laugh when Iruka had given him a incredulous look, his entire face turning cherry bright.

“There is nothing _poor_ about you, Tenzou-san. Exercise a little shame with your words!” Iruka huffed. “I figured that you enjoyed leaving marks and impressions of yourself on me; I didn’t imagine you would enjoy the same courtesy. That you’d want to keep them.” Iruka’s nose wrinkled.

It’s something Iruka does whenever he is trying not to control an outburst or a sudden lecture. Tenzou had suffered a lecture only once. He had shown up with a pressure bandage on his arm and had fucked Iruka against the countertop so hard that he tore his stitches open, and didn’t feel a thing. When Iruka noticed, Iruka had yelled and lost his shit.

You reckless idiot, Iruka had said, did you leave your mind behind with the armor you took off when you got home? What kind of — you need to exercise more caution! I am well aware of your sizable sex drive, but a little control comes a long way! You tore your stitches! There’s a bed! There’s a couch! Did you really have to fuck me against the counter and put strain on your wound! Unbelievable!  

Tenzou flushed and obeyed like a reprimanded toddler. He made the mistake of grinning when Iruka started to redo the stitches and got another lecture for finding it funny. And when he had told Iruka, it’s not so bad, that it doesn't even hurt, Iruka had pinned him with a look that made Tenzou’s chest curl with warmth when Iruka responded with a: I don’t like seeing you hurt. So deal with it.

It had started to become a common thing, that warmth. How it often emerged whenever he is around Iruka.

Tenzou had braced himself for a similar lecture, a grin threatening to split his face.

But Iruka had simply sighed and spared another look at the mark on Tenzou’s shoulder once more. “Maybe you should have kept your name to yourself. Maybe if you knew a fuinjutsu of sorts? Something that soundproofs, or is that a bit of a stretch?”

Tenzou had almost laughed at that, just as the curling warmth in his chest intensifies and spreads to his stomach, making him reach up to gently thread his fingers into Iruka’s damp hair. It had gotten a little longer, a little uneven towards the ends where it starts to flare outwards. Iruka had looked so serious and so sincere in his request that Tenzou couldn’t help but lean forward and press a kiss to the underside of Iruka’s jaw, then whispers, “Where’s the fun in that?”

“I’m serious,” Iruka had said, and had looked it too.

(He didn’t have to be — Tenzou isn’t even a real name.)

“So am I,” Tenzou had said. “I like watching you try to be quiet.”

The topic never came up again, but Iruka’s efforts leave enough marks that sometimes, Tenzou comes back from his missions with the bruises still fading from his skin. On nights like these, when he’s so far away from home, those marks keep him warm and feeling not quite alone when all he can see before him is an endless stretch of desert, and the smell of blood drying on his armor. Those marks make him quicken his steps, make him rush home, without even realizing how he’s pushing speed into his legs, crossing more distance and strategizing how to minimize his travel time. Those marks make the ache of his travel, the fatigue in his bones and need for sleep, seem just a little more bearable — something he hadn’t even realized had _been_ unbearable up until the thoughts of Iruka had started to swirl in his mind.

*

Sometimes, Tenzou thinks of how Iruka looks like when he’s sitting on a floor cushion, working through his grading on the coffee table. Those nights, Tenzou lingers a little longer, sometimes even spending the night and leaving at dawn or walking Iruka halfway to the Academy. Tenzou stays longer because it’s quite fascinating to see Iruka crawl out of the bed or the couch, or sometimes the floor, to limp to the bathroom, cum dripping down his thighs to clean up and come back out in a pair of pants and hair brushed and up in a hasty bun. Tenzou thinks he still looks deliciously debauched even after cleaning up and attempting to look proper, with his lips swollen and red and slightly unfocused gaze. Watching him like this is almost always enough to make Tenzou reach forward and yank him back down, kiss him until he’s a moaning mess, and undo that brushed hair.

But instead, Tenzou watches Iruka put on tea, fuss about the kitchen, and sometimes put out some savory snacks or little pastries and cookies. Iruka has an unbelievable sweet tooth; Tenzou has watched him go through an entire bag of fudge, stressing while preparing exam papers. He doesn’t know how Iruka can consume that much sugar -- it’s a little cute.

Iruka also favors eating oranges and berries, or dried black cherries with his tea.

Once tea is served, Iruka sits and works on the floor, a soft and satiated smile dancing on the corners of his lips. Tenzou watches him over the rim of his cup, watches how Iruka clicks his tongue when he disapproves of an answer on a workbook, or sigh when he puts a poor grade on an assignment. The most beautiful of all is the proud smile that stretches over Iruka’s lips, the kind that makes his dimples hollow as he circles a full mark on a student quiz or workbook; if he’s working with younger students, he draws a star with a golden marker, or sometimes slaps on a bright sticker. There are certain students that Tenzou realizes Iruka spends a little extra time on — failing ones or those who do very poorly in his classes. Iruka always takes a moment to write down suggestions to improve, sometimes taking an entire portion of the workbook margin; or sometimes, he staples a separate piece of paper, neat block handwriting, giving points on where to concentrate, and what to focus on next time.

Iruka always looks a little heartbroken, every time he has to mark a failing grade for those particular students. Tenzou isn’t very sure why some make him look sad, while others simply seem to disappoint him.

(Tenzou thinks Iruka is a little too attached — he certainly doesn’t remember receiving this much attention from his teachers in the Academy. He certainly can’t compare Iruka to Danzou, because Tenzou knew that Danzou had his own agenda. Iruka doesn’t.)

A few of the student names stick out. One in particular, Tenzou has noticed, always makes Iruka pause a little too long, makes him click his pen repeatedly at intervals, like some sort of nervous tick. The notes for that particular boy are always the longest.

It’s cute, how Iruka has favorites.

Watching Iruka work, apparently, also becomes a habit. Or a hobby. Tenzou can’t even tell the difference anymore.

When the grading is done and their tea cups and snack plates are empty, Tenzou stretches out on the couch, joins Iruka on the floor and leans over to press kisses over the marks on Iruka’s neck — marks that Iruka would reach up with his fingers to scratch or rub without realizing while grading.

It is in these moments that Tenzou sees Iruka’s dedication to his post, how much he cares for his students, the effort he puts into Konoha’s future generation beyond the classroom. There are times where the work is so much, that Tenzou falls asleep watching him work through the night, and sometimes, when Tenzou stirs, he finds Iruka slumped over his work, fast asleep.

Tenzou watches him sleep for a moment and then gently rouses him with a cup of tea so he can finish his work. Iruka always looks apologetic, and offers him the bed, but then Tenzou spoons him from behind and watches him grade over his shoulder, sometimes even offering comments, or chuckling at a funny quiz answer that is so wrong and so silly, as his hand kneads Iruka’s neck gently, easing the tight knots from his sleeping position earlier. Iruka had stiffened the first time he had done that, but had relaxed almost immediately.  

Holding him like that, Tenzou realizes, is something his body also apparently craves. Sometimes, it’s even better than fucking.

Sometimes, it’s all he needs.

(Tenzou tells himself it’s just another method to satiate that little voice in the back of his head.)

*

Sometimes, Tenzou catches Iruka watching him, quiet and wondering, something almost enamored in his expression. Tenzou catches those looks mostly when he’s watching a game show or celebrity news on television, and when their gazes meet, Iruka’s dimples hollow and he looks away, focusing back on his grading. The dimples remain visible, and in between flipping the pages, Tenzou catches Iruka looking up at him with something almost fond. Tenzou is never really sure. It’s a foreign concept to him, a look so incredibly soft to be directed at him.

(It’s almost loving, or what Tenzou would assume a loving look would resemble, like how the hero and heroine from _Paradise Dreams_ look at each other.)

Iruka enjoys kissing him, likes to crawl onto his lap and straddle him, and trace the seams of Tenzou’s mouth for hours, as the television plays in the background. And when the nights are the coldest and Iruka is too mentally exhausted to even attempt to seduce Tenzou for another roll in the sheets, he mellows down to something lazy and warm, and kisses Tenzou, slow and lingering, fingers tracing his jawline and carding through his hair.

And gods, Iruka is such a good kisser.

Tenzou can kiss him for hours, too.

Sometimes, as winter begins to recede and the frost begins to melt, kissing Iruka is all he wants to do.  
  
*

There is a night when Iruka cooks dinner after getting fucked on his knees. It is  Tenzou’s first home cooked meal in possibly years — donburi and tamago toji soup — and Tenzou has to control himself after he asks for seconds. He wants a third, possibly even a fourth, but exerts some restraint and remains graciously polite, even when all he wants to do is rip open the takeout container Iruka packs for him to take home and eat it on the spot. Iruka stares at him the rest of the night after dinner, something wondrous in his gaze, and a shy flush on his cheeks.

One night on a weekend, after a generous portion of shogayaki, Iruka kisses him on the cheek, and asks him if he wants to stay the night, and join him for breakfast the next morning. Tenzou does and Iruka makes tamagoyaki, rice, pan-seared salmon, and miso soup. Tenzou doesn’t think he’s ever had a wholesome traditional breakfast, prepared fresh and warm and served on a tray, complete with umeboshi and green tea.

Tenzou starts to stay the night more often when he can after that, and one day, he gets up after Iruka had gotten out of bed, follows him to the kitchen, still tousled from sleep, and asks, “Can I help?”

Iruka smiles tenderly, so unguardedly bright and beautiful, as he leans over and kisses Tenzou on the jaw, handing him a bowl with some eggs to scramble.

*

On another night, Iruka makes curry.Tenzou never thought he’d ever _like_ curry, up until Iruka offers him a plate. It isn’t something he would have picked off the menu.

Dinner becomes a constant in his life, and Tenzou finds himself looking forward to being in Iruka’s apartment. Iruka always prepared something different. Without fail, after every meal, Tenzou slouches on the couch nursing a belly full of food, with a hot as fuck teacher on his lap, kissing him like he is the only thing that matters, and if Iruka is feeling indulgent, he’ll have mushi-pan or a little bowl of pudding between them, alternating between kisses and spooning some into Tenzou’s mouth and his own.

“Did you enjoy your dessert, ANBU-san?” Iruka teases, the smile melting to a sharper grin as he sets the plate or bowl on the table

“Don’t mind if I do,” Tenzou murmurs in return, pulling Iruka closer, lowering him on the plush rug and cushions.

And when Tenzou fucks him on nights like these, he slows down, indulges in the slow burn of their bodies, and watches as Iruka comes apart looking at him like Tenzou is the center of his universe.

It’s maddeningly addictive, being looked at that way. One night, Tenzou wonders if this is what it means to belong to someone. If this kind of look is the reason why some of his former ANBU teammates had chosen to step away from their codenames and porcelain masks and settle down with their spouses.

*

It’s an afternoon in spring, when the treetops of Konoha are a little greener, and the last bit of winter clings to the ground and the corners of glass windows. Iruka finally prepares sukiyaki, flushing a little when he points out that it is a little late, that he should have made it earlier.

Tenzou doesn’t really care.

He still eats like a starved man, and even steals some of the mushrooms from Iruka’s bowl, when he catches him staring asTenzou eats.

“You know, I always wondered if you can cook so well, why do you always get ramen? Or Cup Ramen?” Tenzou asks once the dishes are clean and dry and he had Iruka on his lap, his mouth tracing a slow hot line down Iruka’s throat.

“It’s quick to order and filling. It’s also a lot more appetising to cook for someone, anyway. And to share a meal with someone that I —“ Iruka suddenly stops talking, going still. Tenzou notices the change and pulls back, just enough to see a flash of something almost like panic and worry. Iruka looks at him a little wide eyed, like he’s seeing Tenzou for the first time.

Tenzou doesn’t understand why he looks so worried.

He would certainly take the food Iruka makes over take-out any fucking day of the year — Tenzou has never been a fan of okonomiyaki, if only because it always looks disgustingly greasy. Iruka makes it one afternoon over a weekend, and Tenzou shamelessly devours three of them without hesitation.

“You’ll make me fat~” Tenzou pats the slowly receding food belly and Iruka laughs, loud and sudden, a flush igniting on his cheeks as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth at the sudden outburst. Tenzou sticks his lower lip out, the way he imagines Iruka’s students would. He also starts to whine in a way he knows would get on Iruka’s nerves. “Then you won’t find me so hot anymore. You wouldn’t like me anymore and, Irukaaaaa-sensei would stop noticing me~”

“That’s not true...” Iruka says, and for a moment, something vulnerable and soft flashes in the depths of Iruka’s warm gaze. It lasts for a mere heartbeat before Iruka suddenly grins, wide and toothy, eyes scrunching shut. “I love your cock too much, Tenzou-san~ I guess I’ll just have to make you work extra hard when pleasuring me~”

Tenzou doesn’t have time to ponder the look he had seen earlier on Iruka’s face, because Iruka shifts and slides on to his knees and takes Tenzou’s cock in his mouth, and suddenly, none of it matters.

By the time Konoha is flourishing with green and the cherry blossom trees begins to bud, Tenzou’s schedule aligns with Iruka’s, and if he can help it, he always makes sure he arrives from his missions before the weekend, so that he can spend his two or three days off between missions at Iruka’s apartment.

*

It gets ingrained in Tenzou’s system — wanting to get home as soon as possible — not because he wants sleep or to eat food that aren’t field ration bars, but because he wants Iruka’s lips on him. He wants to feel his warmth against his body and to feel him clench around his cock, to have his fingers in his hair and to have tea and dinner with him while they watch stupid game shows. Tenzou wants to watch him grade, listen to stories of his students’ antics, particularly the younger ones who try to outsmart him all the the damn time, how Iruka laughs at the memory of it when he admits to being hopping mad at the time it had happened.

It’s like clockwork — coming home, reporting, cleaning up and taking a nap only to leave and pick up some meat or vegetables from the grocery store and find Iruka as soon as he feels he isn’t about to collapse from fatigue.

Tenzou hasn’t spent more than a an hour or two at a time in his own apartment for three months.

(He hasn’t seen Kakashi either, not since their last spar sometime in November and the fucking that came after, and there’s a sliver of shame that comes with it. Tenzou won’t call it guilt. Then again, their schedules doesn’t exactly line up all the time. He should probably see how Kakashi’s doing; he doesn’t expect improvement, and he isn’t naive to think he can solve all of Kakashi’s problems — Tenzou had no grand illusions that he plays the role of being Kakashi’s keeper — but it doesn’t hurt to hope.)

 _Be careful_ , a part of him warns, the moment he stumbles past the gates after what was supposed to be a week long mission but got dragged into two instead, his knees shaking and lungs heaving from the rush back. He had managed to cut his travel time by three days, sunrise just lingering over the horizon. _Or you’ll become what you repeatedly do._

Tenzou ignores it, as he always does, no matter how insistent it becomes as he submits his report and scrubs the grime, dust and blood off his body.

He ignores it too, when he looks at the time and decides, that the he still had enough energy, that he can forego the short nap this time.

*

Tenzou makes it to Iruka’s apartment, leaning a little too heavily against the doorway and is greeted by Iruka rubbing an eye, barely awake and smiling sleepily. The sight of him like this makes something in Tenzou soften, a foreign feeling that he’s not sure what to call, or what to do with.

It’s not the first time he wakes Iruka up like this. 

“Welcome back,” Iruka says, and tugs him in to press a kiss against his jaw.

“It’s good to be back,” Tenzou says breathlessly, as he drinks in the sight of the achingly beautiful man before him. It’s not the first time his instincts to protect and hold tight flares like a fire ignited and he surrenders to the need to wrap his arms around the warmth that Tenzou just burrows into, lips pressing onto Iruka’s temple, drowning in that wonderful smell of oranges and cinnamon. He allows himself to be led to the bed. He allows Iruka to pull off his shirt, allows Iruka to kiss him and climb over him, straddling his hips, warm and gentle, and gods, it’s incredibly comfortable, as he sinks deeper into Iruka’s pillow and sighs.

He falls asleep like that, with Iruka’s lips against his neck, giving into exhaustion.

It would seem that he may have underestimated his energy reserves this time around, after all.

*

What Iruka wakes up to is this:

Tenzou is lying on his back, head turned to one side, a hand resting on his stomach and fast asleep. He sleeps with parted lips, thick, dark lashes curling over his cheeks, eyebrows relaxed from its careful mask of an expression that betrays little to almost nothing to the world, almost as seamless as the porcelain mask he must wear when he’s in the field. Golden rays of sunshine pour through the window, bathing half of Tenzou’s shirtless body in a soft glow. And it is that glow that softens the harsh lines. It is in the morning light that Iruka sees just a man, exhausted, and fast asleep, so statuesque in his stillness, so alluring in his silence and soft breaths.

Waking up to a sight like this never fails to take all of Iruka’s breath away.

Iruka can pinpoint the exact moment Tenzou had become a semi-permanent presence in his home; it had been the moment he had divulged his name to Iruka. What used to be just a few hours, dragged on till dawn and later on, the morning afters.

Iruka isn’t blind. He had noticed how Tenzou would watch him, how his eyes had followed his movements, always observing, always quiet, and maybe it had been a trick of the light, but Iruka had seen something a little more gentle tugging around the corners of Tenzou’s lips whenever he watches him work. It had made Iruka a little self-conscious at first, just like the rare times Tenzou would spoon him on the floor, boxing him between his legs and watching him jot down his lesson plans for the week or grade his students’ work; it had been so easy to get used to the gesture, so easy to lean into the fingers that knows just where to knead, which knots to rub away if Iruka accidentally dozes off in the middle of grading. It’s a ridiculously sweet and intimate gesture, something that Iruka knows doesn’t mean a damn thing to a man who is always quiet and distant, because strangers is all they are to each other.

It’s what Iruka tells himself constantly even when it doesn’t feel that way anymore. It hasn’t for what feels like a long time.

Despite the realization, a part of Iruka always leans into Tenzou’s touches, indulges in them like a man starved of affection and anything real. Iruka would always find himself sighing at the feel of fingers pressing down the length of his back, or smile when he feels the rumble of amusement when he knows Tenzou is reading a student’s far fetched and imaginative answer.

(You lean into this because the smallest and weakest part of you, tucked away safely behind the bars of your rib cage, wants this. You need this. This false illusion of having something that feels whole and warm and deliriously all yours.)

Tenzou’s warmth is something Iruka would never push away, even as the days start to grow a little warmer and the frost has long disappeared from Konoha’s grounds.

Iruka carefully reaches to the side to tug the drapes, dampening the spill of sunlight and slowly sits up. He turns to find Tenzou staring at him through slightly parted lids, his gaze a pool of dark ink under the curled lashes that are still heavy with sleep. Tenzou is trained to wake up at half a second’s notice. Iruka reminds himself that this is just his reflexes kicking in to check for danger.

“Sleep,” Iruka whispers, pressing his hand on the crook of Tenzou’s forearm, and carefully tugs the blanket a little higher over his chest.

Tenzou looks at him for a few more seconds before his eyes slide shut, lips parting a little wider to suck in a slow and deep breath before he settles and falls back asleep.

Something about how Tenzou had looked at him makes Iruka’s throat go dry, and something very small flutter in his chest.

In the months Tenzou has been coming to him, Iruka can’t recall a time where Tenzou had been this exhausted. He always came looking a little rested, or at least with enough energy to not pass out immediately.

Iruka looks over to the small potted plant by his window, full white buds sprouting from its tips that should bloom any day now, the sight of it always managing to send a tendril of warmth curling in his chest, before he looks back at Tenzou. Iruka can’t remember when he had started counting the days for Tenzou’s return, getting a little excited every time he hears a knock on the door, only to feel surprisingly disappointed when it turns out to be a salesperson, or a colleague or friend dropping off work or asking him to join them for dinner.

It isn’t lost on Iruka, how stupid it is to wait for a man who may not even come back one day, and he won’t ever know because ANBU had their own system and a fuck buddy, doesn’t fall under immediate family members per se.

Iruka had told himself sometime ago that if a time comes where Tenzou doesn’t come back for over six months, his promise for discretion would end.

(It isn’t lost to Iruka how stupid it is to be loyal to someone who isn’t necessarily loyal to him, isn’t exactly his at all. Never will be.)

He didn’t mind the waiting. It’s a nice illusion, waiting for someone, that is. And the little chamomile plant Tenzou had left him made the wait a little bearable.

And before Iruka can reach out and brush fingers against Tenzou’s jaw or do something equally stupid and affectionate, Iruka tears his gaze away, puts distance between them as the flutter in his chest intensifies, no longer just a small thing, and certainly not lasting for just a heartbeat. That stopped being the case months ago.

Iruka dismisses it as admiration and want; Tenzou is an incredibly attractive man, that even his silence had started to grow on Iruka, just like the flowering chamomile plant on his bedroom windowsill.

(Sometimes, Tenzou just needs to _look_ at him, and it’s enough to make Iruka feel a little weak and grounded all at the same time.)

From beyond the bookshelf, and not for the first time, Iruka catches himself watching Tenzou sleep, affection dangerously curling in his chest. He’s never minded Tenzou invading his bed, or his couch, or pillowing his head on his lap as he reads one of Iruka’s favorite books while Iruka worked. Hours pass and Tenzou remains blissfully asleep to the waking world beyond Iruka’s apartment, the sound of the busy streets and rattling wheels of the passing rickshaws — Iruka had seen him exhausted to some degree, and Tenzou would usually be able to enjoy a nice blowjob or even manage through a round of frotting. Tenzou must have been so exhausted this time, so drained, if the slightly pallid features had been anything to go by.

Tenzou stirs a bit on the bed, a slight movement that Iruka would have missed if he wasn’t paying close attention. There’s something about how Tenzou shifts and curls to the side, right on to the pillow Iruka had been previously lying on, something so open about the gesture when Tenzou is always so guarded, almost unreadable, that makes Iruka feels something traitorously and alarmingly warm in his chest.

Tenzou must either trust him enough to be this open or he’s just _that_ exhausted.

Iruka isn’t naive to think it’s anything more than the latter.

*

Tenzou sleeps for another three hours and wakes up inaudibly. Had it not been for the shift in the shadows, Iruka would not have heard him move at all from where he’s hunched over his grading on the coffee table. Iruka doesn’t look up from his work, even as Tenzou quietly pads to the bathroom and the rush of running water fills the apartment. Iruka gets up then, parting the curtains wider and allowing noon to spill into the apartment, brightening it a little more before he puts on a fresh pot of tea.

Tenzou comes out rubbing an eye with the heel of his palm, t-shirt on and the light hooded jacket Iruka had left on the corner of his bed bunched up in his hand. Iruka doesn’t realize how long he’s been staring until Tenzou looks up at him, yawning behind a fist.

“You should've have woken me up earlier,” Tenzou says, voice thick and raspy.

“You looked like you needed the sleep.” Iruka turns round, unbidden heat rising to his cheeks, fussing with the tea cups on the counter and watching the tea leaves steep. The hands that curl around his hips are cool. They circle to Iruka’s lower abdomen, palms pressing flat over warm skin, as Tenzou presses his chin on Iruka’s shoulder, watching as Iruka pours two cups of tea and sets the teapot aside.

“How have you been, Iruka-sensei?” Tenzou murmurs, lips brushing against Iruka’s neck.

Iruka shouldn’t be liking how their bodies fit against each other, how the warmth of Tenzou’s body feels like a comforting blanket draping over him. He shouldn’t be inhaling deeply, taking in the deep rooted and earthy scent, how it clings to Tenzou’s skin and hair — cedar trees and musky amber, Iruka thinks as he sighs softly, feeling so cozy and so homey.

“Ah, nothing exciting. Spring break is just around the corner and my youngest class is demonstrating a play about Konoha’s history in the upcoming Spring festival. They’ve began to practice very hard,” Iruka says, and tilts his head back just a little when Tenzou buries his face against the side of his neck. The gesture is so intimate, and so sensual that it is enough to ignite the desire, a slow curling heat in Iruka’s veins, like brightening embers of a fire about to grow.

“And how did Toshio do in his make-up exam?” Tenzou asks and the question is a little startling that Iruka tenses for a second, turning his head to look at Tenzou over his shoulder. His face must have betrayed his outright shock because Tenzou chuckles, pressing his cheek over the curve of Iruka’s shoulder, looking at him lazily with sleep still clinging to the corners of his gaze, and Iruka can’t help but stare at his relaxed and so incredibly handsome and charming face. Then again, Tenzou looks incredible even when he’s so stiff and so on guard. Iruka can feel the heat dust over the tips of his ears. “What? You looked so upset the last time I was here, giving him a failing grade. Did he pass in the end?”

Iruka is a little too shocked at the idea that Tenzou had been paying that much attention to his student exam papers during the times he had spooned him by the coffee table. The fact that Tenzou even picked up on Toshio’s name, that Toshio had been the only one in his youngest class who had failed so miserably, still rendered Iruka speechless. He must have taken too long to respond because Tenzou rolls his eyes and turns him around, carefully pushing and lifting him up on the counter, palms pushing Iruka’s knees apart, where he settles between them and picks up one of the cups of tea to take a sip.

“Well, that is — ahh...” Iruka flushes deeper, clearing his throat and picking up his cup of tea as well, taking a sip as he tries to swallow this revelation down. There’s a slightly knowing smirk tugging around the corners of Tenzou’s lips, visible even behind the rim of his cup, as he pins Iruka with a knowing look. “Barely, this time around. But he did his best and that’s what matters.”

“Why is Toshio so special?” Tenzou asks, licking his lower lip as he sets his tea cup down, leaning further into Iruka’s space, elbows resting on the counter and tilting his head up.

“If by special you mean he possesses certain skills, blood limits or a well known family name, then that’s not him at all. He’s a regular boy, who lost both his parents last year. He doesn’t have any existing relatives and doesn’t get a lot of support to work through what is required of him.” Iruka sighs, remembering the small five year old face, how it had scrunched up when he realized that he still failed despite trying. Students like Toshio is why Iruka wished there was something more he could do.

“But you’re helping him,” Tenzou murmurs, and it makes Iruka flush a little more.

“There’s only so much I can do as a teacher, Tenzou-san. Spending a few hours after classes is one thing but…” Iruka shakes his head. “He’s a good boy, very hard working. It’ll take some time, but I am confident he’ll pick up. I’m honestly a little more surprised you were paying attention at all.”

The admission makes Tenzou huff a small sound of amusement, eyebrows quirking as he takes another sip of his tea. “When your pretty face suddenly looks so heartbroken? How could I not?”

“I was making no such face!” Iruka protests, flush darkening. He tries hard to not show any obvious signs of favoritism.

“You were. Like this.” Tenzou’s face morphs to an exaggerate look of sadness, lips turning upwards and eyes softening around the edges, wrinkles suddenly appearing between his eyebrows and a little bit on his chin.

Tenzou looks comically ridiculous, so hilariously different from his usual neutral expression that Iruka can’t stop the laugh that bubbles out of him. It’s so sudden and loud that he brings a hand up to his mouth and tries to stop it. “I most certainly do not look like _that_.”

“Apologies, but I cannot replicate something so beautiful~” Tenzou grins.

“Oh shut up. Flattery and lies won’t get you anywhere. And that’s a terrible line!” Iruka laughs again, shaking his head.

“No lies, Iruka-sensei. I wouldn’t say things I don’t mean. Why do you think I like fucking you?” Tenzou straightens and reaches up to free Iruka’s hair from the hasty bun Iruka had gathered it up to earlier, and Iruka can do nothing but blush all the way to the roots of his hair. The locks fall down way past his shoulders, in dire need of a trim, and like each time Tenzou frees his hair, Iruka watches how his eyes darken, a slow pool of desire trickling into Tenzou’s gaze as he gently picks at a lock of hair, twirling it between his fingers. Tenzou’s brutal and direct honesty is something Iruka isn’t very used to. “You must be admired by a lot of people. You must also get a lot of, ahh, Iruka-sensei noticed me today. Or ahh, Iruka-sensei praised me today.”

Iruka chortles a little, tearing his gaze away from Tenzou’s lips, shaking his head as his shoulders quake with suppressed laughter. It’s the kind of line that comes from mainstream television soaps. It’s a little funny how someone as stoic and measured as Tenzou can even sound like those shows, how he’s capable of making his voice hitch up to a higher tone, and how his expressions can shift and morph to something else completely, going from stoic to something silly, creepy, jesting, childish or petulant -- It never ceases to catch Iruka off guard. It’s almost like Tenzou turns to a different person. “Actually, I get more of the quick, Iruka-sensei is coming. or run, Iruka-sensei is coming. Perhaps the occasional, oh shit, as well. I’m not that kind of pretty-boy teacher you’re referring to, Tenzou-san.”

“Pity,” Tenzou snorts, and drains the remains of his tea cup before he carefully places it in the sink. “If I had you for a teacher, I certainly would think you’re the pretty-boy kind.”

“Stop it.” Iruka rolls his eyes.

“The Academy also would seem a little more interesting. Maybe even nice. Ah, I got to see Iruka-sensei today. Ah, I hope Iruka-sensei smiles at me today. Or kyaa, Iruka-sensei gave me his cool approval and gold star~” Tenzou even goes as far as fluttering his eyelids which is all Iruka could take as he flushes once more and punches him on the shoulder.

“You’re an ass! Don’t make fun of me!” Iruka snaps without bite, and punches Tenzou again. Tenzou doesn’t budge from his spot, core tight and keeping ridiculously still, despite the grin that spreads wider on his lips.

“Toshio should consider himself a lucky boy. Not a lot of people have or make the extra time for something beyond their responsibility.” Tenzou reaches up then with both his palms, cupping the side of Iruka’s neck, thumb smoothing over his jawline. “You care a little too much, Iruka.”

Iruka looks down at his hands then, a half-hearted sad smile forming on his lips that falls just as quick. He knows what it’s like to lose everyone, to have no one to lean on when you’ve got homework you can’t even begin to understand. He knows what it’s like to ask for help and be shunned and dismissed, to be told to figure it out, it’s your work, it’s your class, it’s your problem, you should pay more attention to your teachers. Iruka also knows very well what it feels like to get a poor grade, how it keeps staying poor, with little to almost no guide on how to improve. Iruka remembers growing up and receiving very little compassion from his teachers and caretakers, when most of their focus tends to lean on the prodigies, the promising warriors, the cream of the crop as some would say.

Iruka remembers trying so hard.

Iruka remembers promising himself to never make that kind of mistake on his first day as a teacher. He always had at least one student who is always struggling. And then there was Naruto, who simply didn’t understand the rules, _couldn’t_ , because no one had explained it to him. No one had bothered.

No one wanted to.

And whatever promise Iruka had made on his first day had flown out the window because he couldn’t see Uzumaki Naruto, just the monster he contained within. Not at first, anyway.

(No one really explained it to Iruka either, what loss meant, what being an orphan in an imperfect system had meant. No one had the time, and Sandaime, for all his efforts, had an entire village to oversee. It got easier with Mizuki; then again, everything got better with Mizuki.)

“Someone has to,” Iruka says, unable to meet Tenzou’s gaze. “A little compassion goes a long way.”

Tenzou is quiet and when Iruka looks up, there’s something sharp and assessing in Tenzou’s gaze, eerily calculating as he tilts his head. “That sounds a little way off your curriculum, Sensei.”

“I am aware that my job is to teach these children how to kill. I do not have any illusions of naiveté that that my classroom isn’t the first step these children take in losing their innocence. That I am not raising soldiers. Because I am. It’s early conditioning of the best kind, teaching small hands how and where to strike, how to mould chakra, how to hold a weapon. But these kids, these boys and girls, that’s not all they are. They’re people, too.

“A shinobi can be strong and invincible, but being human is always the deterring factor in that equation. Desperation, pride, anger, bitterness, guilt — mankind will never escape from those, it’s within every one of us, especially as shinobi. So yes, perhaps I do care more than necessary, way off the curriculum as you say, but compassion is the basis of morality. No one has ever become poor by giving a little compassion. Showing these kids that there is good, that beyond the blood and gore and post traumatic stress of taking lives that will come to them later, encouraging them and believing in their abilities will make all the difference between them dying alone in the field, leaving their comrades, behind and coming home.”

“And those who turn their backs on the village?” Tenzou challenges.

Iruka knows exactly who Tenzou is talking about and is barely able to suppress the flinch.

“If there is one thing I’ve learned in all my years of teaching, is that I can never tell what a student will do and what a student won’t do once they leave my classroom. I can only give them the knowledge and hope it’ll be a strong foundation for them. What they do with that knowledge is beyond my control. But I can hope that by showing them compassion, if they decide to turn their backs completely to the village, they’d at least hesitate for just a moment longer, and look at their teammates, their friends or family. At the very least, as a teacher, I can hope for that hesitation.”

The weight of Tenzou’s stare is heavy, and Iruka can’t help but squirm a little on the counter. He clears his throat as the flush crawls high up on his cheekbones.

“I get accused of being too gentle a lot of times. It gets a little tiring. Everyone needs someone to count on. If I can’t be a teacher my students can count on, then clearly, I am not doing my duty right.” Iruka sighs, and reaches up to rub the edge of his scar. Tenzou’s eyebrow goes up just the smallest bit and it’s enough to make Iruka feel just a touch irritated, especially after he had just bared a good part of him, had not lied or dismissed the question, responded with complete and unapologetic honesty. A part of him feels that Tenzou is judging him for loving his post, for loving his students, when there shouldn’t be anything wrong with that. “What?”

“Well, I must admit that I am incredibly turned on right now.” Tenzou says, looking perfectly serious, not a lopsided smile in sight.

Iruka huffs an incredulous sound and pushes him backwards, and gets one of Tenzou’s hands wrapping around his wrists, wrestling them behind his back, Tenzoui’s other hand grasping his chin for his efforts. Iruka doesn’t take the words seriously, doesn’t think it has any merit. He gives Tenzou and irritated look, lips curling to a frown. “Don’t make fun of me. I don’t expect you to care, or understand — “

“Toshio is a lucky boy to have you as a teacher, Iruka-sensei.” Tenzou cuts off his string of accusations. “I’m almost envious.”

“You have no reason to be. You’re getting plenty of attention from me, as it is.” Iruka tries to jerk his chin away, but Tenzou only jerks it back, yanking Iruka’s face down that their noses almost touch. It’s a game, all part of the foreplay, Iruka resisting, pulling away.

Tenzou says nothing, but his grin comes back when he leans up and press their mouths together. It takes one kiss for Iruka to come apart, all defenses crumbling to dust, as Tenzou bends him over and fucks him right there on the counter.

It is right before Iruka comes, his elbows jerking on the countertop as Tenzou pounds into him mercilessly, leaving him panting and slack jawed, dripping a mess on the floor, the tip of Iruka’s cock brushing against the smooth wood of the lower kitchen cabinets that Tenzou leans forward to brush his tongue against the side of his neck and suddenly pulls out.

It takes all of Iruka’s energy to stay up right, palms grabbing the edge of the countertop with a staggered cry ripping out of his throat. Iruka can see his arms _shake_ , can feel his knees buckle under him as he moans and turns to _glare_ at Tenzou, who is standing there, cock ruddy and glistening in the afternoon light, heavy with blood and arousal, with his arms fucking crossed over his chest, eyeing Iruka up and down smugly, teeth peeking out from between his lips just the smallest bit — it’s all Iruka could do to not stare at that smug expression, at the chiselled body before him, the scars mapping over the length of Tenzou’s body, old and new, dipped and raised, rock hard muscles shifting when Tenzou unfolds his arms and takes a step towards Iruka, gaze assessing again, like he’s calculating his next move.

Iruka isn’t sure why he’s finding this incredibly attractive, especially when Tenzou is being an ass.

There’s something about Tenzou’s gaze that’s different, something that Iruka doesn’t quite recognize in all the times Tenzou has been coming quite frequently to fuck him over the course of the past few months. It’s a touch softer, even though everything about Tenzou remains as closed off as a well guarded fortress. Iruka sees precum bead and trickle down the length of at Tenzou’s cock, watches how he sucks in a breath, how his abdomen contracts with its sudden sharp intake and Iruka can only _smirk._

Iruka knows then and there that Tenzou is _really_ liking what he sees.

And that makes something in Iruka’s stomach flip and the flush rise higher on his cheeks, impatience flaring like a raging fire.

“Your cock should be in me, Tenzou-san,” Iruka says and pushes himself up a little straighter, voice thick and raspy, still breathless.

“Yes, it should be.” Tenzou sounds breathless too, voice thicker and deeper, as he takes a step forward, parts Iruka’s legs and so very easily, slides back all the way in. It’s so slow, and so gentle even, that Iruka can’t stop the shuddering and weak moan from falling past lips, can’t even look away at the pinch between Tenzou’s brows, how his neck clenches and his teeth grits, visible betweens lips that pulls back as dark lashes lower to half mast.

Something in Iruka comes apart completely then and it takes a few slow and long thrusts, something so languid and different from how Tenzou normally fucks him before Iruka comes long and hard, sudden and hot, embarrassment making him duck his head against Tenzou’s shoulder as he muffles his cry by sinking his teeth into muscle and bone. Tenzou tenses over him, goes still as Iruka rides out the rest of his orgasm, merciless in his attempt to be quiet, copper caressing the tip of his tongue as a small _groan_ tumbles right out of Tenzou’s mouth.

Tenzou suddenly jerks into him, unforgiving and hard, making Iruka clamp down harder into the bite. Tenzou jerks his hips again and again, milking the last of Iruka’s orgasm before the pace picks up and Iruka’s mouth is dislodged from the bite and he’s crying out loud as Tenzou pounds into him, quick, hard and so, so unforgiving that the flood of heat and Tenzou exhaling sharply and inhaling through gritted teeth that tapers off to a choked off _groan_ is enough to make Iruka clench as he spurts out just a little more cum, his orgasm stretching to a point Iruka didn’t think was possible, as Tenzou fills him with the viciousness of his release and muffles the groan he let out against Iruka’s shoulder.

The mark on Iruka’s neck is going to swell. It’s going to be tender for probably a week.

It’s in that moment, when Tenzou pulls back and looks at Iruka, when he brings a visibly trembling hand up to cup Iruka’s face, thumb pressing over Iruka’s lips, that Iruka sees something he hasn’t ever seen before — too open, too soft, and far too expressive when Tenzou rarely shows him anything. Because they’re just strangers fucking and using each other.

It could have been a trick of the light, Iruka isn’t sure.

But when Tenzou kisses him, so incredibly slow and deep, a smile lingering at the corners of Tenzou’s mouth, an arm curling around Iruka and a calloused palm pressing over the curve of Iruka’s shoulder in an almost protective hold, Iruka knows then and there how royally and utterly emotionally fucked he was.

*

The hideous and almost rabid-like bite on Tenzou’s shoulder is something Iruka refuses to be apologetic about, even after Tenzou had teased him about it. Iruka had turned a lovely shade of red, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze and had snapped something incredibly cute. Next time, maybe you should be controlling yourself, have a little shame when you’re always thinking with your cock, Iruka had said, and Tenzou couldn’t resist nipping at the scowling and embarrassed frown off Iruka’s mouth. The embarrassment only ebbed when they fell into bed and he’s got his cock inside Iruka once more, Iruka spread wide and beautiful under him, coming with a muffled cry when he turns and sinks his teeth into Tenzou’s forearm.

Iruka had bit down so hard, that Tenzou had to wrench his arm off that mouth with a sharp grunt. Iruka had given him a look then, vaingloriously dark and sneaky, dimples hollowed as he licked the upper tiers of his teeth and Tenzou had forgotten how there was an existing world around him and came hard in the wake of that look.

Iruka had looked rather pleased with himself afterwards and Tenzou, for the life of him, couldn’t even find it himself to get irritated or fault him.

(Iruka is so fucking beautiful that Tenzou doesn’t think he could ever stay angry at him.)

Tenzou doesn’t mind the sharp sting, doesn’t mind how it brushes against the fabric of his t-shirt and the sleeve of his hooded light sweater. He likes the slight burn it gives off. It is something Tenzou wants to linger a little longer, company he wants to keep when he’s by himself on long nights away from home. He should probably go back and annoy Iruka a little more, maybe buy dinner for a change from that new place Iruka mentioned, and maybe get a few bites to wear like badges under his uniform before he departs.

The thought comes to him all of a sudden, when he shifts to accept his new mission from the Godaime. He must have paused a moment too long because Tsunade cants her head to the side, raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at him. Tenzou says nothing and dips his head instead in respectful acquiescence, before he shunshins out of the office and onto the rooftops. He’d be gone for a week to Rain, information extraction. Counting the hours, he’d make it by the weekend, perhaps catch Iruka before the Academy closes, maybe share a bottle of wine with him when he comes back. Rain makes good wine, now that Tenzou thinks about it.

Tenzou decides he likes the plan that formed in his head, as he hops off the rooftop and onto the streets, taking a detour to Tea Avenue to pick up lunch. He orders enough for two and heads back to his apartment just long enough to pack his gear and prepare his armor. He’s in the middle of doing inventory, the smell of warm gyudon and tamagoyaki making his stomach grumble when the knock comes.

Tenzou isn’t sure why a part of him hesitates at the sight of Kakashi standing in his doorway, when he shouldn't have paused at all. Kakashi’s shoulders are deftly slouched, hands in his pockets, the smell of disinfectant is a little prominent and Tenzou immediately knows that Kakashi has an injury somewhere under his jounin uniform.

Whatever plans he had is pushed to the back of his mind as Tenzou wordlessly holds his door open and doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask why, because he never does. He says nothing when Kakashi wraps arms around him, doesn’t push Kakashi away when he yanks his mask down and kisses Tenzou long and hard, the smell of pine and open fields filling his nose as Kakashi begins to strip him off his clothes, fingers almost desperate in their tremble. Tenzou can feel the tension under Kakashi’s skin, how it coils and churns with each movement, rigid as Kakashi pushes him down onto the couch, stripping his own shirt off in the process and revealing a pressure bandage wrapped tightly around his middle. Tenzou doesn’t see any blood staining the dressing and so he doesn’t stop Kakashi when he takes his already-hard cock out of his pants and proceeds prep Tenzou.

He says nothing when Kakashi leaves shadows of himself all over his skin, handprints that bloom red and will fade to black and blue later, fingers kneading down into the hollows of his hips. Tenzou remains silent even as Kakashi bites and sucks around his neck, down his throat and all over his chest, teeth raking over his nipples and up to his shoulder, as he grits his teeth and swallows through the heady pleasure.

It is only when Kakashi’s tongue brushes over the swollen, broken skin on his shoulder, that Tenzou tenses. He goes still, eyes widening at the ceiling as everything in him spins to a halt and he’s reaching up and fisting a hand in Kakashi’s hair and yanking him off his shoulder. The suddenness of it, within the space of a heartbeat, has Kakashi pausing in his thrusts and looking down at him wordlessly.

“Don’t.” It’s sharp, how the syllables come out, and Tenzou watches how the Sharingan spins slowly under the hooded eyelids.

Kakashi says nothing and simply grinds his hips forward and Tenzou lets go. Kakashi doesn’t go near it again and Tenzou comes apart not too long after. It’s gratifying and satisfying all at the same time, as it always is when it comes to having sex with Hatake Kakashi.

Tenzou just isn’t sure why this time, it feels a little different, just a touch off.

*

“When do you leave?” Kakashi asks, looking up from his bowl of gyudon that wasn’t meant for him, just as Tenzou sets his glass of water down.

“Few hours.” Tenzou takes a mouthful of tamagoyaki and stretches his neck. “A week long at most.”

“Ah...” Kakashi’s eyes curve into perfect crescents, and Tenzou immediately understands what that means. Kakashi’s been confined to the village. Tenzou knows it’s only one of two reasons: recklessness or chakra depletion. From the look and size of the pressure dressing on his torso, Tenzou guesses is a mix of both. “Then I’ll be seeing you when you get back.”

Tenzou pauses mid-chew, looking up at Kakashi, and hums in response. It goes without saying, the unspoken _I’m here for you._ Whatever else Tenzou may want, whatever else his body may crave, he can compartmentalize it for the time being and focus on making sure Kakashi is grounded enough to function. Resistance bubbles at the tip of his tongue, makes his throat constrict as his gaze drops down to the take out container of tamagoyaki, a meal that he had intended to take back and share with Iruka. The bite mark on his forearm catches his gaze for a moment, bright and red, a reminder of where Tenzou’s body would rather be, despite what his conscience says.

Tenzou looks up and sees a man who, like him, saw the dreadful end of countless wars, and although Kakashi sits victorious and unwounded, he carries within him the memories of it — hideous wounds that will never heal. Within him, Kakashi carries the memories of every man and woman he puts down, comrades who had died on the field and in war, small and big, loud and quiet within the shadows, inevitable. Tenzou knows the feeling of having water, earth, fire, lightning, and wind surrounding you, boxing you into trenches and pushing you towards the ground, the crackle of chakra sometimes so devastating and consuming that the earth upturns itself. Tenzou knows helplessness, knows that arms and weapons can kill a man and rid them from misery. He also knows too well that experiences of war can kill a man every day. One can go blind, deaf, fail to walk or lose a limb, develop multiple organ failures that not even the best medics can reverse, but one just doesn’t forget war.

Tenzou looks at Kakashi and knows that he can’t live a life without war.

Tenzou can’t either — servitude and being a soldier is all he had. It’s all he _knows_.

Kakashi was raised to fight from the moment he could probably crawl. Tenzou knows Kakashi wouldn’t know how to live without the fight, wouldn’t know what it means to live in days of peace if the day comes. Men like them lack the training for the actual combat that starts after the war. The kind where you sit in the sun, perhaps with a loved one, perhaps surrounded by children, and peaceful stretches of green grass and clear blue skies, but still have the shadows wrap around your wrists and ankles. It wouldn’t matter how you stand beneath the sun, how your loved ones hold you and kiss you at dusk and dawn — men like them, men like Kakashi, will never escape, will never accept love when so many have died.

It’s who and what they are — soldiers of war.

(Tenzou doesn’t know love, but he knows that Kakashi does — Kakashi loves too much. In a way, he considers himself lucky, not having what Kakashi had. It’s probably the only reason he’s remained so sane and stable through the horrors of ANBU, when many have either left or were honorably discharged, and some, like Rabbit, had gone rogue.)

If there is one thing he learned from Kakashi, it’s that you don’t leave your comrades behind. Even if sometimes, the life of one may be what’s needed to ensure the rest lives to see another day. But war kills and destroys, and Tenzou is not Kakashi. He had nothing in him to be destroyed — no past, no name, no family, no form of attachment or the knowledge of love that would get in the way of his mission. Tenzou can’t even refer to himself as human on most days, because he’s an experiment, a surviving lab rat meant to replace someone far too larger than life than his pitiful and shadow of an existence.

Kakashi is far too human, far too alive, knows what it means to have an identity, a past, a name, a family, knows love and the value of important bonds, carries it around with him like the scars on his body and Tenzou thinks that’s why it’s so easy for Kakashi to fall apart, sometimes. It’s because he _knows_.

Tenzou takes the best parts of Kakashi and learns from it, learns that leaving behind your comrades makes you worse than trash. And though Tenzou’s teammates don't always come back alive, Tenzou, at the very least least makes sure to honor them by bringing their bodies home, no matter how a small a piece it may be.

He wouldn’t dare turn his back on Kakashi.

It’s simply not an option.

*

This thing between them started years ago.

It’s as much about the need for breath, as it is for survival.

It’s easy to forget what it means to be human, or that you even are, when the only thing that defines you is the mask you call a face and the hands that put holes into bodies in the middle of the night — so many, Kakashi had stopped counting long ago. He would fall into the rhythm of the mission, fall into the endlessness of blood, fall into the emptiness inside of him that stretched so wide, sometimes he thought he would lose himself to the madness of it all —  the way he had to cut out every part of him that was human just to survive the horror of what he had done with his hands.

All he has left is this:

Hands that only know how to break and shatter and crush and kill.

Hands that break promises like they break bones. Hands that never learned how to properly hold onto someone living, when he’s spent his entire life holding onto the memories of everyone he’d ever lost. Hands that know no purpose outside of battle, except in moments like these: when he remembers, however briefly, what it means to be human again and that he is. When he loses himself in the taste of sweat and the breath he steals with his mouth. When he slides a hand around Tenzou’s throat — not to kill or to crush, but to hold —  and feels his life thrumming up against his palm.

When he lets himself feel something other than the mourning inside of him that never ends, the emptiness that chases him at night into his dreams, and takes on the shape of the dead. When pleasure and need and the raw hunger of desperation is powerful enough to make him forget the true purpose of his hands. When he can let go, if only for a moment, instead of holding onto all the pieces of himself that he gathers up behind a mask and attempts to shape into a man who is always in control.

Because falling apart in front of Tenzou, or inside of him, is the only place Kakashi can go when the silent scream that started inside of him all those years ago when the rocks fell grows far too loud, and all he can feel is the largeness of it. The way it threatens to take him apart.

So he comes apart holding Tenzou the only way he knows how.   

He comes apart just enough for it to count, so that he can put himself back together again in the end.

This thing between them certainly isn’t love, and it isn’t perfect, but Kakashi knows it’s where he can go when he needs to fall apart. When he wants to forget that he had never earned the right to hold someone living in his arms.

And though he could go anywhere, fuck just about anyone, there are only two people in his life he’d ever trust with this part of himself — this part that needs the warmth of skin, the taste of something living, instead of the memory of blood in his mouth. That needs to be allowed to fall apart. That doesn’t need to hold himself together. And while Gai would never turn him away, there are some things that Gai can’t do because he _won’t._ But with Tenzou, there are never any boundaries or limits. And Kakashi knows when he’s fucking Tenzou, or letting Tenzou fuck him, that he won’t ever have to wipe away his tears. That he won’t have to look up and see in his eyes something terrible enough to break him all over again.

(Something that feels like forgiveness he never earned. That feels like love he doesn’t deserve.)

But there had been something there, earlier, when his tongue had brushed over the bite mark someone else had left behind on Tenzou’s shoulder — something a little too raw, uncharacteristic. Something that doesn’t feel like Tenzou at all.

Tenzou’s never reacted so viscerally to Kakashi licking over someone else’s mark before — has never much cared in the past.

But that look in his eyes — the way he _sounded_ — Kakashi’s not sure what it all means.

Isn’t sure if it has anything to do with the fact that it had been _months_ since the last time he had seen him, either. If those marks on his body that Kakashi hadn’t put there belong to someone who Tenzou actually cares about enough that he wouldn’t want Kakashi to claim that part of him, even if he lets Kakashi claim the rest.

There’s a certain guardedness to Tenzou that hadn’t been there before, a kind of tension in his shoulders that doesn’t go away even when Kakashi slides down to his knees and wraps his mouth around his cock again. It doesn’t ease out even when they make their way back into Tenzou’s bedroom and Kakashi buries himself deep in Tenzou once more. And though Tenzou’s never been particularly _loud_ in bed, at least he’s always been able to let himself go just enough with Kakashi. At least he didn’t hold back parts of himself. At least he always could meet his eyes without any hesitation as they fucked.

Afterwards, as the sun starts to set and Kakashi slides an arm around Tenzou’s waist, presses his face between his shoulder blades, and slowly breathes in the cedar trees and amber and sweat that is Tenzou, he wonders just how many more times he’ll be able to fall apart with him like this.

(A part of him selfishly hopes this won’t be the last time.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAMYAMS NEEDS ALL THE HUGS AND YUMMY WALNUTS FOR DEVELOPING FEELS OKAY?!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [Sub_textual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual). Check out her stuff, she's great! She has also assisted me in fixing Kakashi's dialogues.

When Tenzou doesn’t return that night, Iruka knows that Tenzou is away on a mission that will most likely drag out to at least a week long.

It is somewhere towards the end of the first week when Iruka decides that there is no harm in going out with his friends on a Friday evening, after a gruelling mad rush to get most of the props for the upcoming Spring Festival play set up. Nearly all of Iruka’s fingers are covered in adhesive bandages from all the cutting and stapling he and his fellow teachers had been doing the past few days.

If he never has to see or touch another piece of colored paper for a year, Iruka would be more than happy for it. He didn’t want to draw the short straw ever again and be subjected to have his class do public performances anymore. At least not for another year. He’s already done it for three consecutive years. Izumo and Kotetsu did not escape the terror of arts and crafts — their fingers are also covered with colorful bandages that Iruka keeps on hand.

Iruka isn’t even sure how he managed to bribe Izumo and Kotetsu with _just_ dinner to help him cut out so many leaves, flowers, and make hats for prominent historical figures.

Which is why the three of them end up in the bar just down the road, sharing a bowl of kakipi and renkon chips and sipping on ice cold dark, local beer — a much deserved reward. The bar isn't very big, filled with a hundred conversations in loud voices, peppered with laughter and cheers. The crowd is a little younger compared to most places he, Izumo, and Kotetsu would frequent. But it’s cheap food, cheap drinks, and they serve the best tsukune in the village. There are a few familiar faces, but not familiar enough that they’d join their table — mostly people they know in passing from either gate guard duty or the mission room.

It’s in the middle of their third order of tsukune that Kotetsu pops the question. “Iruka, are you seeing someone?”

Iruka can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the question, taking a sip of his beer. “No. Why?”

“Just wondering. You’ve stopped taking partners home.” Kotetsu grins. “Or going home with someone.”

“We have a bet.” Izumo gestures between himself and Kotetsu. “He thinks you’re having an affair with someone married and you’re hiding it.”

Iruka’s eyebrows disappear behind the fall of his bangs, as he blinks rapidly in Kotetsu’s direction. Kotetsu at least has the decency to look sheepish. Sometimes, Iruka wonders why he is even _friends_ with this ridiculous pair. Iruka hums as he takes a longer sip of his beer and turns his gaze back to Izumo. “And you?”

“My money is that there is someone. And you’re in love.” Izumo picks up his beer and raises it to punctuate his statement.

Iruka bursts out laughing at the ludicrous suggestion — about him being in love. Iruka knows better than to get into that kind of boat again. And it’s not like he had found someone to love, someone who is loyal to the village and their post, who takes their duty seriously and would never betray Konoha. Someone who is transparent in communicating their needs and intentions, is so ridiculously good in bed, and warm, and beautiful, pays attention and listens. Someone who is strong and unwavering and dorky with their love for little things, like a meal shared while watching reruns of cheesy soaps on television, or reading a book just because Iruka had loved it. Someone who would share a part of them, however silently, just like how Iruka shares every part of himself. Someone who doesn’t make excuses to be with _other_ people and justifies it as nothing.

Iruka’s laugh tapers off to a head shake, as he stares at the foam in his half empty beer glass and the reality of his current situation hits him right between the eyes and _oh no._

Whatever it is he and Tenzou had, it isn’t going to last.

It isn’t meant to.

Iruka knows that and even still, as Tenzou had begun to spend more of his time in Iruka’s little apartment, had begun to hold him in ways Iruka didn’t think he had wanted to be held, he has found himself feeling more fulfilled with just a few minutes spent with a man who can’t stay — _won’t_ stay — than even the longest hours with his students, his friends and colleagues.

Iruka is falling for him.

It’s the spooning, Iruka realizes, the fucking spooning that had started it all.

Iruka is not a stranger to falling in love.

His first love had been Hirasawa Yui, when he was seven, on his first day at the Academy. He had fallen the moment she smiled at him during orientation — she had been the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes upon, with short inky black hair and large gray eyes, the rosiest cheeks and the cutest smile that could light up the room. She sat with him during lunch and shared the swing during playtime, and when they had classroom projects, she had always asked to be his partner. They eventually grew apart and things weren’t really the same after the Kyuubi attack. Later, Iruka learned that she had grown to be a strong jounin, the both of them nothing but virtual strangers to each other. As Iruka had gotten older, Iruka looked back and thought that it couldn’t be love — that holding hands and getting a kiss on the cheek certainly isn’t enough to be love.

But the truth is, it was. It was love for what Iruka knew love be.

Then came Mizuki — his second love.

The hardest one.

The one that taught him not to believe people at face value. There are layers to a person, and even if they seemed the nicest, the most loving, Iruka had learned to pause and always take off the rose tinted glasses that would sit perched on the bridge of his nose, and look at what’s before him logically. His love for Mizuki, the memory of it, will always remain painful and bitter. He can’t look back

It keeps him from unrealistic dreams of having children and a home, of a spouse to have and hold. There is too much damage to the tenderest parts of him, too many lies and drama and abuse that had stemmed from jealous streaks, when green eyes would stray and look elsewhere, flirt with someone seemingly better, and then justify it as harmless. _It was nothing,_ Mizuki would say, _I wasn’t really interested, you’re seeing things, Iruka, it’s unbecoming of you._

Until Iruka wasn’t just seeing things, because it was right there on Mizuki’s skin — little red marks that Iruka knew wasn’t his doing. Hand prints that were sometimes too small to be his, or too large, and towards the end, right before the last proverbial nail to the coffin, Mizuki had been a little more open about it — the flirting, the touches, the kisses in the shadows.

The thought of losing Mizuki, or what they shared, of being left alone when he had grown so dependant on him, had been so daunting that Iruka kept on forgiving, kept on agreeing and believing that it was nothing, indeed. It had reached the point where Iruka had considered being polyamorous, even when he didn’t want to be.

(It isn’t that Iruka couldn’t love more than one person. It’s just that he was selfish enough to want something just for himself, for once.)

Kept on turning deaf ears to his friends who would whisper their concerns to him and he had smiled through it all and had also started to say, it’s nothing, it’s just harmless fun.

Betraying Konoha, however, was something Iruka couldn’t look away from.

This love forced Iruka to grow, but also had left Iruka closed — careful, too cautious and considerate of his relationships and his friendships, because now he knows what he wants and what he doesn’t.

In the end, Iruka believes that he doesn’t need love like _that_ to live.

He believes that he can live off something physical, can survive what remains of his life fulfilling his duties and serving Konoha to the best of his ability. It’d be more than enough.

But then there’s Tenzou.

Tenzou who doesn’t mince his words, is transparent with his wants and needs, and draws clear lines about the purpose of their arrangement. Tenzou who notices the little things, who pays attention to him when really, he shouldn’t have to. Tenzou who looks at a home cooked meal like it’s his last, grateful and gracious, polite and sweet, and still so brutally direct that Iruka had to adjust, because he’s never met anyone like him. People tend to dance around niceties and pleasantries — Tenzou didn’t waste time doing that, when his time in the village is already so limited.

Tenzou who had spent countless winter nights in Iruka’s apartment, unzipping his jacket and tugging his scarf off, folding it over the couch armrest and stepping into the space of the small kitchen to wrap arms around Iruka’s middle, cheek pressing against Iruka’s shoulder, nose burrowing into the curve of Iruka’s neck as Iruka prepared him a cup of tea. Tenzou would kiss his neck and then then ask,  how have you been, Iruka-sensei? Or, how did your week go, Iruka-sensei?

Tenzou, who says so little, who listens and observes like a man mapping out a plan of attack. Tenzou who sits and watches him grade schoolwork, who cares in his own little way and sometimes makes him tea, sometimes wakes him up when Iruka falls asleep so he can finish his work. Tenzou who is so generous and brings far too much salmon to last for a meal or two, or a little too much beef or vegetables for dinner. Tenzou who slowly works his way through Iruka’s shelf of his favorite books and poetry, who chuckles and sometimes discusses something that may have appealed to him, too.

(One night Tenzou had asked him, “Why are there sticky notes in this book?”

Iruka had looked up from his quiz he had been grading and peers at the title of the book of poetry Tenzou had plucked from his shelf earlier. “They’re my favorites.”

“Oh?” Tenzou pulled the book back up and read one of the marked pages out loud. “However big, however small, let me be part of it all, share your dreams with me. You may be right, you may be wrong, but say that you'll bring me along, to the world you see, to the world I close my eyes to see.” Iruka remembers flushing in that instant, heat crawling up to his cheeks when Tenzou’s gaze suddenly feels like a heavy brush stroke. “What if the world they see is ugly and dark?”

Iruka remembers the yawning need in his chest as he met Tenzou’s gaze and refused to acknowledge the thing inside him reaching out with fingers towards something he’ll never have, because they’re not lovers. They’re fuckbuddies, an arrangement. He had smiled then, turning his gaze back to his quiz as he paraphrased the last half of the poem, “Then we dream a million dreams, close our eyes, and make our own world.”)

Tenzou, who surprisingly likes watching celebrity gossip on television, and silly game shows that involve absurd challenges like eating extreme spicy foods without drinking water, or trying to stuff one’s face with as many mochi as possible. Tenzou can spend hours watching daytime soaps, huffing softly when the dramatic music queues and the hero discovers that his servant is actually his long lost child.

Tenzou, who also likes making little paper cranes out of the unwanted sticky notes Iruka would pull out of his lesson planner once he no longer needed them. There’s a collection of blue, yellow and green paper cranes in a little glass bowl on his shelf. Iruka always notices a new paper crane sitting on the shelf when he comes home; Tenzou would have been gone from the village by then.

Those little paper cranes started to feel like a message silently saying: _I’ll see you soon._

Tenzou, who sometimes would trace the line of his face with his fingers, would play with his hair and just _look_ at him. Those touches would be so gentle, like Iruka is made of fine crystal, and Tenzou’s eyes would be unguarded, open like the bright night sky.

It is those looks, fleeting as they were, that Iruka can’t shake from his mind.

Those looks are reverent, almost transfixed, and makes Iruka’s heart gallop under his ribs, makes him flush and look away, because he’s scared that he’s seeing something real. And when he does look away, Tenzou would gently take hold of his chin, turn his face up and kiss him slowly, deeply, pulling him so incredibly close and behaving nothing like the way Iruka had gotten used to. And while Tenzou isn’t remotely gentle when he fucks Iruka, it’s these small and quiet pauses, these almost far too intimate moments, that Iruka finds himself yearning for.

The gentleness is what catches Iruka off guard. It’s the gentleness that is so beautiful, so hypnotizing that it renders Iruka powerless the moment it peeks out of the careful mask Tenzou always seems to have on, when Tenzou can be an ass when he wants to be, and is as sharp as a polished sword, and as hardened as the the white armor he wears.

Iruka knows he is on very thin ice.

He knows that these little things he notices about Tenzou — tiny pieces of a puzzle that he had only picked up on because Iruka can never look away —  is going to lead him blindly into something Iruka doesn’t think he’s emotionally equipped to deal with. The fact that Tenzou is ANBU — active and very much not around, if at all — is reason enough as to why this shouldn’t even move a centimeter forward, that it is definitely time to shut the door, end this little arrangement of theirs. Tenzou had come to him a few times bruised and wounded and patched up by a medic — Iruka hated those times. Hated seeing the careful and measured movements, didn’t like seeing the ugly bruises that took days to heal. Tenzou would say it didn’t hurt too much, that he would be at the hospital if he had been hurt too badly. _Stop worrying, Iruka, I wouldn’t be here if I should be under medical supervision._

Iruka didn’t like seeing Tenzou hurt and every night that Tenzou is away, Iruka finds himself murmuring a small prayer to whatever gods that may be listening, to keep him safe, to have him come home again and again and again.

Although Iruka tells himself that he doesn't want to know what his third love would be like, a part of him is already aware of its existence.

“Come on guys, you know I wouldn’t.” Iruka drains the remainder of his beer, fingers tightening around the glass, the answer coming too late. Iruka doesn’t have to look at his friends to know that they don't believe him at all. Iruka has never been able to lie properly, no matter how hard he tries. It’s one of the many reasons he doesn’t think jounin or anything higher that chuunin is for him.

“You look happier though.” Izumo points out. “And that’s good.”

Iruka startles at the statement, blinking at Izumo, and gets clapped on the shoulder by Kotetsu. Something wells up in his throat as two of his oldest friends look over to the bar and begin to discuss doing shots before heading back to cut out more leaves and hats.

Iruka doesn’t think he’s at the level where he is helplessly far too in love yet, but he knows that if he doesn’t end things soon, it’s going to be a hot mess later. He doesn’t have the energy to nurse another broken heart. Or what remains of it.

*

On the sixth day of Tenzou’s absence, Iruka feels hopelessness bloom in his chest when he wakes up wishing he had Tenzou’s body beside him. Iruka turns to the side that Tenzou favors, fingers brushing against the pillow that still smells very faintly of him, as clawed fingers wraps around his throat and Tenzou’s absence suddenly feels too heavy. He brings a hand to his mouth, shame and self-hatred suddenly ablaze in his blood, as he calls himself a fool for letting this arrangement drag on longer than it should have. In the stillness and quiet darkness of his apartment, Iruka’s heart thunders with panic he can’t control.

Sandaime had once told him that he had a big heart, that he loved like no other and that’s what made him a fantastic teacher and mentor to Konoha’s youngest shinobi, because a man with a big heart knows compassion, can be brave in ways not a lot of others know how to be.

But Iruka thinks his heart is neither big nor brave. That it’s never been strong at all, and probably never will be after Mizuki. And if by strong it means that his heart can override all logic and observation, then Iruka didn’t want a big fucking heart, doesn’t want to miss the signs of what a traitor, a _cheat_ , could be just because he fucking loved too much.

It’s because of that Iruka had sworn to keep what’s left of his heart behind an iron cage for a reason.

Hoping for something more with Tenzou is dangerous. It’s suicide.

It’s outright fucking stupid — _naive_.

The next time Tenzou comes, Iruka is going to have to talk to him, have a conversation about this and explain to him why he can no longer continue, why their no-strings-attached and not quite anonymous arrangement can’t continue further because Tenzou had stopped being a stranger to Iruka a long time ago.

In the quiet brightening stillness of dawn on the seventh day, the sound of a soft rustle makes Iruka sit up from the bed, his head pounding with a headache from overthinking and fearing the fact that he’s in love with a man that will never love him back, or at least, won’t, because it’s probably against the rules.

The potted plant on his windowsill that had bloomed beautifully with large chamomile blossoms had started to suddenly shrivel, the perfectly white petals staining with yellow and curling inwards. Some of the leaves had also started to darken around the tips, with a few falling the day before. Iruka had snipped the drying ends of a few leaves from the stem, in hopes to stop the rest from dying.

One of the drying blossoms had fallen, pieces of dried petals scattering on the windowsill surface. Iruka stares at the dried petals with dismay as he sighs and carefully gathers them and tosses it into the trash. Iruka also moves the pot towards the windowsill by his kitchen sink, where the sunlight doesn’t tend to be as harsh.

He’s going to pass by the Yamanaka flower shop, find out if there’s anything he can buy to help revive the plant and prevent it from drying up completely.

Iruka isn’t the type to believe in bad omens, but his thoughts stray to Tenzou, as it always does when Tenzou is away and he looks at the plant pot. The worry, Iruka finds this time, as he glances at the pieces of the dead flower in his trash, makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

*

The moment Tenzou steps past the gates of Konoha, he pops a soldier pill and shunshins just outside the Hokage tower. He staggers when he lands, his grip on the wall slipping, and he is forced to catch his breath as he leans heavily with his shoulder against the concrete wall, breath coming out in harsh pants under the afternoon sun. The pressure field dressing he had wrapped around his side has soaked through the armor, his pants, and much to his irritation, his left boot too. Tenzou can barely see ahead of him, stars appearing around the corners of his darkening vision as he presses a hand over his middle.

“Fuck…” he _groans_ , as blood bubbles past his throat and he lifts his mask up to spit on the ground.

What should have been a simple extraction turned out to be a contest. Whatever the information is in the scroll he had in his utility pack, Tsukigakure and Moyagakure had been after it too. Tenzou abhorred missions where he had to fight to not only extract the information, but to keep it from being taken by someone who wants it just as bad. Dealing with Tsukigakure’s jounin team of three had been hard enough. Dealing with Moyagakure’s ANBU on his own had been another thing all together. Tenzou isn’t even sure how he had made it past Fire’s border, when his breathing is already impaired and he’s bleeding from multiple lacerations, and a large, a large short blade wound on his side.

Tenzou thumps the side of his head against the wall a few times, trying to shake the oncoming darkness that is threatening to consume him before he shunshins right outside the Hokage’s door, knocks and lets himself in. He manages to drop the scroll on the Hokage’s desk, manages to excuse himself immediately, apologizing for the mess on the floor and shunshins to the ANBU headquarters, where he collapses by the reception desk of the medical unit.

He stops fighting the failing consciousness threatening to consume him the moment he feels the gurney on his back, blood spilling out of his mouth and trickling down his chin, as the wheels squeak and the halogen light above him drowns everything in white the moment his mask is lifted.

Tenzou knows it’s no one’s fault, that intel sometimes changes within minutes. It doesn’t stop him from feeling irritated.

What a fucked up assignment.

What a troublesome and useless fucking fight.

*

Tenzou wakes up alone and with a sharp inhale to the sound of monitors beeping and to the sight of two intravenous bags hanging up on the stand. The ticking clock on the wall tells him he’s been out for over eight hours. The fact that he still has bandages around his torso tells him that he’s going to subjected to another round of healing, that whatever tissue they had to regenerate couldn’t be done in one go — a sign that injury must have been life threatening.

He sighs as he slumps back on the pillow, closing his eyes as a wave of nausea from the horrid blood loss hits him.

Tenzou knows there’s no helping it. He’s likely going to be stuck in the medical ward for another day or two, and likely benched for the week to ensure a full recovery.

*

Tissue regeneration is never painless, especially when the medics have to work on damaged nerve endings. Tenzou sits through the last of it like the good soldier he is, gritting his teeth as cold sweat breaks over his skin.

“We’re almost done, Cat,” the masked medic says, pokerfaced and calculating, concentration not breaking as the glow of green chakra fills the room and seals drawn under him shift. Tenzou scrunches his eyes and tries to breathe through the sting of his flesh being knitted together, groaning through gritted teeth, hands balling into tight, trembling fists.

It’s going to be another scar; the flesh is going to be tender for a while too, possibly even sensitive.

He’s going to have to let Iruka know to not touch him there, to be careful where his hands grip when he’s coming; Iruka tends to claw fingers into his back and sides, rake red lines over the bites he leaves behind. The thought comes so suddenly that Tenzou’s eyes snap open just as he sags back down on the gurney and the glow of green chakra disappears, his world cloaking in black.

Iruka would fuss, Tenzou thinks as he surrenders to sleep, seeing very vividly behind his closed eyelids just how Iruka’s lips would turn upwards, how his nose would wrinkle, and worry would darken his brown eyes, making lines appear betweens his brows and a little bit around the corners of his lips. He’d look about as upset as the time when Tenzou had shown up with bruises covering nearly half his body from a fight gone horribly wrong.

It’s almost sweet, the thought of it, the sentiment behind it. Iruka cares too much for his own good. He cares too much for a man who was created and forged to be nothing but Konoha’s weapon. He doesn’t even understand what it means to belong to anything other than being a tool. He’s made peace with who and what he is.

(Unwanted emotions get in the way of a shinobi’s function — he has Kakashi as a reference point for that and Tenzou does _not_ need that kind of baggage.)

Tenzou hopes they let him go as soon as possible.

*

They end up discharging Tenzou with a two week notice for recovery. Tenzou heads home with a bag of medication, and falls face first into his bed. He swallows several pills dry, tugs the covers over his head to take a nap and reminds himself to pick up dinner on his way to Iruka’s apartment, and maybe some ice cream for them to share while they kiss. Iruka would enjoy that, would probably even smile a little shyly, blush a little cutely and kiss him on the cheek.

Tenzou sleeps for hours and dreams of kisses against his jawline, dimpled smiles, fingers in his hair and a soft voice whispering the only name he knows. A big part of him can’t wait to come up with enough energy and make his away across seven blocks, just so that he can wrap his arms around Iruka and hear him say, welcome back, it’s good to see you.

*  
  
When Tenzou wakes up, his teeth are chattering with chills and he’s burning with a fever. Tenzou had wondered when the flu would eventually catch up with him and isn’t surprised that it had come right after a horrible injury. He wakes up with his entire body aching like someone had pummeled him repeatedly with a nunchuk, and it takes all of his strength to cross the few steps to his bathroom, to swallow two of the cold and flu tablets he keeps on hand, and passes out again, face first into his pillow, disappointment clawing in his chest at this unexpected turn. He wants Iruka and there’s no fucking way he’d make it across seven blocks in this state when he can barely make it to his own bathroom.

A part of him almost wants to try — throw caution to the wind and give into the impulse, cross the distance between himself and Iruka and subject himself to the worrying, the fussing, and the lecture that will no doubt follow. It's worth it, he thinks, every second of it, if it means feeling Iruka beside him, wrapping fingers around the warmth of Iruka’s beautiful hands, listening to the sound of his voice.

Tenzou tries to get up. Or rather, he remembers getting up, anyway.

But Tenzou wakes up with a choking and startled sound, senses kicking into high alert even when the rest of him remains shut down and soaked sweat in the middle of the night, to a familiar presence and a palm pressing a cold towel on his forehead. There are ice packs pressing under his armpits, neck and groin, the cold feeling like needles prickling into his skin. For a twisted moment, Tenzou momentarily thinks it’s Iruka, up until he blinks several times to grasp at his bearings and manages to strangle the syllables of Iruka’s name somewhere in his throat, keeping his mouth tightly shut as he grits his teeth through the chills, when he realizes just _who_ is sitting by his bedside.

Kakashi’s face is contorted with worry and Tenzou finds the energy to push the ungloved hand away when he turns his head away from Kakashi to hide his disappointed expression, dislodging the cold towel form his forehead.

“Go home, Senpai.” Tenzou discovers that he no longer has a voice, the words coming out raspy and rough through the swell of his throat and the cough that suddenly wracks through his frame. It’s sticky, foul tasting, and disgusting, and feels like sharp gravel grinding under his chest. “I’m not very pleasant company right now.”

Kakashi’s says something, but Tenzou doesn’t hear him as his vision dims.

He falls asleep again.

*

The season finale of _Paradise Dreams_ involves a montage of the main character, Ritsu and his love interest, Miyo, finally coming together after many seasons’ worth of challenges. It is a slow burn love story between the main character — Ritsu, an esteemed warrior of the Water Kingdom, and Miyo, an influential scholar of the Sky Kingdom — two opposing sides, neither knowing peace, and for centuries, hunted each other.

The Water Kingdom is a kingdom of warriors, raised in the dark and cold depths of the ocean where giant monsters thrive and they fight for survival. They are a race that can never walk in the sun because prolonged exposure causes them to lose their strength, drains them of their ability to fight and survive, their bodies sustaining disintegrating damage that would cost them their social status as warrior — the dark waters are no place for the weak. They are a ruthless race — calculating, cold, always looking over their shoulder for monsters that threaten to wipe their existence, and hoping for the day when they may find a cure to their limitations and venture to the open, where their people can be safe from the creatures of the depths.

Survival is what leads them to start hunting the people of the Sky Kingdom.

The citizens of the Sky Kingdom are called the Sun Walkers, a once peaceful race of scholars that were forced to become warriors when the Water Kingdom —  Black Hunters, they were called — discovered that their souls had the key to ensure the Water Kingdom’s survival on land. For centuries, Black Hunters like Ritsu would train and venture to the open, covered in armor to protect them from the sun and air, trained to move too quick, to snatch bodies that had led to countless wars on the crimson sandy shores of the Sky Kingdom’s land. They say that the sands had turned red over the centuries from all the bloodshed and vicious wars.

The Sun Walkers, in turn, aren’t able to venture to the ocean in search of lands beyond, forcibly trapped within the towers of their kingdom that touches the heavens, right in the middle of the ocean, because the waters weaken them; it is said the spirits of the deceased Black Hunters sucked their life force out in a last vengeful attempt at victory. That it is only with a Black Hunter’s harvested soul can their bodies be made strong enough to withstand the torrential and raging seas.

Ritsu and Miyo met on the battlefield, where Miyo had willingly given a part of her soul’s essence in exchange for Ritsu’s cooperation to help her find a permanent solution for both their people and end the meaningless bloodshed once and for all.

It is a love story of understanding, acceptance, betrayal and loyalty, something that ensnared Tenzou’s interest from the very first time the video rental clerk had recommended it to him all those years ago. It is the first television series that Tenzou had fallen for, and Miyo, for the longest time, was someone he had fantasized about, for she is beautiful and so headstrong in her belief and hope for a better future that didn’t include bloodshed.

She also had the nicest ass.

Tenzou had fanboyed and religiously followed every newsletter, talk show discussion, and debate about the series, had fallen for numerous characters throughout all nine seasons, only to watch them die unexpectedly. It is an all-time favorite, so much so, that Tenzou can recite a few lines verbatim. He had been obsessed about the show growing up, and to this day, watches it over and over again if he has the time.

(He also stands firm in his belief when he says that _Paradise Dreams_ trumps the _Icha Icha_ series easily, hands down, no discussion required. He’d never say it out loud to Kakashi, though.)

The ending scene is something Tenzou knows by heart.

There is a gazebo — large and wide, where the words of a promise made between two lovers are carved deep into the wood. Wisteria, fuchsia, and sweet alyssum hang from the curving canopy, petals billowing as a soft breeze rustles through the dangle of flourishing blossoms, sailing out towards the setting sun, where Miyo’s silhouette stands tall, features bathed in sunlight, in the sheer white ceremonial robes that brides in Sky would wear during the day of their union to their betrothed.

But it isn't Miyo who stands facing the sunset.

Iruka is looking straight ahead, hair down, the golden weave of a crown resting on his head. There is a soft wistful smile on his face, painted in the rose gold of the sunset, a blush warming his cheeks. On his shoulders sit the sheer white cloak, fastened by gold, which matches the thin gold bands on his upper arms, wrists and ankles, soft cotton pants hanging on his waist embroidered by the traditional arabesque patterns of Sky’s tradition. Iruka is beautiful, the very epitome of fierceness and intelligence, a vision that almost feels so unreal. Someone this beautiful _can’t_ be real.

Tenzou knows it isn’t real at all, that it’s just a dream. No one dresses like that in the real world, unless one is on a film set.

But Iruka is warm and so present, solid and breathing, and when the breeze blows again, Tenzou can catch the faint whiff of oranges and cinnamon.

Tenzou looks at his hands, sees the black arm guard that has a sheen of metallic green to it — Ritsu’s arm guards, ones that were forged from a dragon’s teeth, the strongest substance in the world, tougher than any metal in existence. Tenzou’s eyes are wide, as he looks at black boots that encase his feet all the way to his knees, the fitted dark,scaled armor that covers every inch of him up to his neck— armor that is a part of Tenzou’s body, armor that protects him from the sun, as strong as the hide of the Water Dragon, the fiercest beasts of the sea. And in his hand, his trusted weapon, the Trident of Destiny, a legendary weapon that can only be yielded by the bravest and the worthy, a gift of the gods.

“I never believed in forever,” Tenzou says, reciting Ritsu’s line as he takes Iruka’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Not one where I get to walk under the sun.”

They fit perfectly.

“Now you can,” Iruka says, Miyo’s line coming out gently, softly, filled with love and promise, as he turns to look at Tenzou with a smile that Tenzou thinks pales in comparison to anything beautiful that may exist in any world. “You have me.”

Tenzou believes it, just as much as Ritsu did.

*

The hand that Tenzou’s fingers end up grasping is thicker, heavily scarred. The knuckles are bigger, a result of bone repeatedly breaking, fingertips dry and far too smooth and calloused, a sign of multiple cuts from summoning and chakra burn. It’s warm and alive and real. But it is the wrong kind of warmth; comforting like a fire in the middle of a shadowed field, but not cozy, not the kind Tenzou would have wanted to burrow into, and close his eyes, lose himself in.

There is too much strength in this hand, too much power.

It’s too rough, when the one that Tenzou is looking for has strength too, but is deceptively delicate. Those fingers are slender, are soft and smooth, and knows when to soften a hold, and when to tighten to a fist. The thumbs should be the only ones that are dry, because Iruka flips the pages of his student workbooks from the bottom with only his thumbs, and doesn’t use his other fingers.

The one Tenzou feels in his grip belongs to a man who only knows how to make fists and hold a fistful of lightning, the kind that tries to hold onto something that always ends up slipping between his fingers.

It’s not the hand Tenzou wants to hold.

Tenzou opens his eyes and sees Kakashi, sitting by his bedside with an expression Tenzou isn’t sure what to make of, especially when his vision blurs in the dim light of dawn. “You’re still here…” Tenzou murmurs, voice still raspy and throat aching. He pulls his hand away, looking apologetic and incredibly awkward, for holding Kakashi’s hand like a lost child in the dark.

“Your fever broke early last night.” Kakashi reaches for the nightstand and holds out a glass of water. “How do you feel?”

“Like I probably look.” Tenzou sighs and pushes himself up to a sitting position, feeling clammy and horrid, but at least the chills have stopped. His body still aches, but it isn’t as bad when he first woke up with a fever. “Thank you, Senpai. You didn’t have to.”

“What kind of senpai would I be if I didn’t take care of my cute little kouhai?” Kakashi’s eyes crinkle to perfect crescents as Tenzou empties the glass of water in a long thirsty gulp. “If you’re up to it, there’s soup in the fridge that I can heat.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Tenzou says, slumping back in the bed. “How long was I out for?”

“Two days since I found you.” Kakashi stands, taking the glass with him.

“How high was the fever?” Tenzou asks, sliding his legs off the bed. He is going to take a shower and maybe, he’ll feel a little more human and more like himself.

“High.” Kakashi doesn’t turn around, pushing the bedroom door open, bright light flooding in from the living room. “Almost took you to the hospital.”

Tenzou stiffens for a moment but doesn’t ask any more questions. He doesn’t need to be a medic to know that any fever that would warrant Kakashi even debating the hospital would mean that Tenzou most likely had no control of himself.  He must have been delirious. He sincerely hopes that the shit— if any at all — that may have left his mouth did not betray anything embarrassing or worse, personal. Like that little boy in the holding tank running his mouth and asking for things he can’t and never will have, or worse, Tenzou playing the role of Ritsu to Iruka’s Miyo, fanboying in his sleep and calling out a name he shouldn’t be calling out to begin with.

Tenzou hums instead, and quietly pads to the bathroom.

*

Washing off the fever that clings to his skin and shaving the weak long stubble leaves Tenzou feeling infinitely better. It doesn't make the ache in his body go away completely, but it warms him and clears his head a little bit, leaves him feeling less vulnerable than a few minutes ago when he had been in bed and under Kakashi’s watch.

He feels a little more energetic and more himself despite the ache in his throat and his voice still remaining faded and raspy, long after he’s finished a generous portion of clear soup and now nurses a cup of ginger tea as stares at the television that is playing reruns of _Secret Love._ They spend the rest of the day watching television like that, in companionable silence and comfort, with Tenzou lying on the couch under a blanket and Kakashi taking the the armchair.

It is a show that Tenzou had abandoned midway, if only because vampires and werewolves is the one fantasy theme he cannot quite get behind. But he sits through one of the earlier seasons, watches how Shiki, the vampire, and Kiryu, the werewolf, duke it out for the object of their human love interest, Natsumi, snorting under his breath at the ridiculous dialogue exchange on the screen.

“I can’t stand her,” Tenzou sighs, just as the commercial ads roll.

“She is rather dry.” Kakashi sets his empty cup of tea down, stretching an arm over his head from his comfortable slouch.

“No growth even by the third season. Even after she was cursed by the mountain witch, you’d think that would change her a little bit.” Tenzou straightens from the couch, pushing himself to his feet. “How far did you get?”

“Fourth season. Then I gave up.” Kakashi turns to look at him. “I kept watching it for Shiki.”

“Same here. I wonder if he cracked in the end. Given the fact that he was a monster, comes from a line of monsters, he was still kind. Still believed in the best of everything,” Tenzou looks out the window, the darkness of the night but a splash of dark purple just above the brightening horizon.

He thinks of what Iruka had said the last time he had been with him, how he’s aware that he’s conditioning children and turning them to weapons, the first step into stripping the first few layers of innocence from those who are far too small, with grips far too unsteady to cut through flesh and bone. He thinks of how Iruka had looked then, patient and headstrong, a fierce light in his eyes despite the sad smile that had lingered around the corners of his lips.

(It’s what he likes about Iruka, how he tries to see the light in their very dark world.)

The yearning hits him like a pile of collapsing bricks, his hand circling around air and forming into a fist, wanting to feel slender fingers slide between his. Tenzou debates walking seven blocks, debates making his presence known even when he isn’t exactly back on his feet yet. Tenzou looks around the neat, practical space of his apartment: wooden floors, bare off-white walls, grey plaid couch and a black armchair that he bought on a whim because he was so convinced by the salesman in the market. It has since become Kakashi’s lounging spot each time he’s in the apartment. Tenzou’s open kitchen space is equally bland, with nothing decorating the fridge door and the fruit bowl on the counter remaining empty and collecting mail.

It’s cold, impersonal, and all harsh lines without even a rug to give the surroundings a bit of warmth or a homey feel. He doesn’t even own a doormat. The only splash of color can be found in the potted leopard lily, kentia palm and fiddle leaf figs on the floor by the window, a line of small cacti neatly arranged on his window sill and small shelf against the wall filled with botanical, architecture, and furniture design reference books, and a few DVDs of television series and movies. There are no photographs, no knick knacks made by small hands or mismatching drying mugs and tea cups on the kitchen rack. Other than the wall clock, nothing is mounted on Tenzou’s walls.

His bedroom isn’t any different, and is just as bland and practical — a palette of white, brown, beige and navy.

Tenzou suddenly feels a little suffocated in his own space, like the walls are suddenly too high and too close, the blandness far too sterile. Iruka is probably home, he thinks, and his couch is a lot more comfortable than Tenzou’s rarely used one. He even has a throw pillow that looks like a pineapple that Tenzou favors because it retains its shape, doesn’t squish like most pillows. A birthday gift, Iruka had said, from one of his colleagues, flushing when Tenzou had asked him why a pineapple.

“Maa… you might even call him a little naive,” Kakashi chuckles. “I suppose that’s what makes him beautiful. It’s a little poetic, that he’s meant to be a dark creature but ends up full of light.”

“That sounds like a quote from a magazine,” Tenzou says, and stands. “I read somewhere he dies. Gives up his life for Natsumi and Kiryu.”

Kakashi puts the cups away and begins to dress, preparing to leave. “Ah, my kouhai is so cute when he’s up to date with spoilers.”

“Pot.” Tenzou points at himself, then at Kakashi. “Kettle. Were you summoned?”

“I have to hand in a report.” Kakashi zips up his vest and ties his forehead protector back on.

“I’ll walk with you. I need to report in and pick up my briefing, anyway,” Tenzou says and pretends not to see the questioning look on Kakashi’s face when he heads back to his bedroom to change. When he comes back out, tugging the hood of his light sweater on, he doesn’t miss the look on Kakashi’s face. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re worse when you’re injured or sick, you know?”

The look Kakashi gives him is sheepish, as he raises gloved hands up and shrugs. “Just making sure. You were in bad shape.”

Tenzou gives Kakashi a look, one that he’s given him a lot of times over the years when Kakashi insists he’s fine but isn’t, and shakes his head in mild amusement. Kakashi will never change. Tenzou says nothing and tugs his shoes on, patting his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs.

They leave and descend the stairwell in relative silence, walking down the bustling road until they reach a junction, one that leads to the tower and the other towards the ANBU headquarters. Paper decorations line the streets in honor of the festival taking place in the village square that will begin that afternoon. There are flyers advertising pavilions and stalls that will be present, along with programs of this year’s street performers. Konoha always welcomes the spring with festive spirits, a last goodbye wave to the bitter cold. Tenzou knows that come evening, the village is going to be alight with a thousand colorful lanterns.

It seems that Konoha put in extra effort to make this year’s festival more spirited. The village hasn’t fully recovered from Orochimaru’s attack.

The last time Tenzou had witnessed any of the festivities in Konoha had been years ago, when he had been tasked by the Sandaime to keep an eye on the Jinchuuriki, a precautionary measure in case the boy lost control of his emotions that may trigger an instability on the Yondaime’s seal. The village never liked the boy, and Tenzou remembers trailing after a child to make sure he didn’t fall into ditches each time he got sneered at during such festivities and he had ran away. Sandaime had made sure to arrange Tenzou’s schedule to align with these festivities, especially during Konoha’s Grand Fire Festival that takes place in October.

“See you later?” Kakashi asks, turning to glance over his shoulder.

Tenzou hesitates for a second too long and gives Kakashi a vague answer, when he normally would have given a solid yes or no. He doesn’t want to go back to his apartment. He wants to go find Iruka, needs to have him in his arms and and feel the warmth of his body against the chill that he can still feel lingering in his bones. Tenzou doesn’t even want the sex at this point. He just wants the comfort, to rest his head on that offending bright yellow pineapple cushion on Iruka’s couch, drink tea from the black and green glazed tea cups, maybe even munch on some roasted nuts, dorayaki, arare, or anpan, whichever Iruka has on hand. Or maybe Tenzou can stop by the market, pick up some strawberries and kiwis. They’d be at their sweetest by now, and Iruka would definitely love that with his tea.

“Maybe.” Tenzou clears his throat when Kakashi’s assessing gaze washes over him with a slightly raised silver brow, color uncontrollably splashing on his cheeks as embarrassment flares, making Tenzou slide his gaze away and push his hands deeper into his pockets. “I’ll see you around, Senpai.”

Kakashi hums and his visible eye curves into a perfect little crescent and they go their separate ways.

*

The briefing is thick, as it always is.

Tenzou picks up a new uniform and armor to replace his damaged one and spends the next hour in an empty office leafing through the thick dossier. He doesn’t seem to have missed much, other than a few skirmishes that had taken place outside the still being constructed wall on the North West side of the village. It’s the only remaining vulnerable point and the skirmishes —  Sound and Sand, apparently — had caused another delay in the construction completion. Extra patrols apparently are in place, with room for volunteers.

There’s a copy of the festival program taking place and Tenzou realizes that Iruka is not going to be home, and if he is, he probably won’t be there long. He’d be at the festival, making sure that his youngest class’ performance goes well.

Tenzou looks through the patrol roster. He’s technically supposed to be in recovery, but putting on the armor and lingering in the shadows to keep an eye on the festival proceedings doesn’t require a lot of energy. He also doesn’t want to go back to his apartment, either. But if he volunteers, it’ll get his body moving, he’ll inhale some fresh air, and maybe, he’ll get to see Iruka, maybe even get to watch his class’ performance.

Tenzou gathers the dossier, burns his sealed copy, and puts his name down for a few hours of patrol duty for that afternoon.

The thought of seeing Iruka, even from afar, is enough to give Tenzou the strength he needs to keep standing and not give in to the need for more sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tenzou is a pokemon that is evolving. He's also a fantasy fanboy who dreams of being the main hero WTH TENZOU YOU ARE A DWEEB OKAY! And it's kind of adorbs. Gosh, i love writing this guy so much!
> 
> The 'poetry' Tenzou was reading off Iruka's book is actually a song: Million Dreams - Ziv Zaifman (Produced by Alex Lacamoire, Benj Pasek, Justin Paul & Joseph Trapanese - The Greatest Showman OST)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [Sub_textual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual).

It’s a little silly to volunteer for patrolling duty when Tenzou normally wouldn’t.

No one would.

Tenzou also knows if his old team had been around, he’d be made fun of for months for openly volunteering.

Patrolling within the village during a festival is lazy work. Tenzou knows that there are jounin and chuunin with their family and friends already on ground. He also knows that ANBU members would rather dress down and walk amongst the crowd rather than stand on guard in their uniform.

In ANBU, patrolling is usually forced upon newcomers or as a form of disciplinary action, mostly a blow to the ego or a slap on the wrist rather than anything else. The team assigned to him is not his own, but individuals he had worked with before. Currently on the ground and assigned at different points on timed rotation, are Badger, who is about thirty meters to his east, and Monkey, thirty meters to his west. Beyond them, stands Crane and Mantis. Tenzou knows that towards the North West, Viper and Boar’s team is assigned with guarding the incomplete wall.

The festival is in full swing by the time four o’clock comes around, and Tenzou finds a nice perch on a shadowed rooftop of a bookstore, overlooking the village square and the river and forest beyond it. He remains crouched on the ledge, new uniform on without the arm guards, dark cloak and hood tugged on and mask raised up slightly to free his mouth. He orients himself with spotting the jounin and chuunin guards while snacking on a stick of toumorokoshi. He then moves on to carefully watching Konoha’s citizens as they bustle about, young and old, married and single, families and friends, all dressed in either their uniforms or colorful yukata and kimono.

The entire square is decorated in white, rose, and yellow lanterns. From beyond the square, the canopy of sakura trees lining the river are in full bloom, numerous picnic mats set up and the distant sound of music hanging in the cool spring breeze. Numerous food stalls are already serving children and teenagers, the smell of takoyaki, yakisoba, karaage, and the  smoke from the yakitori and ikayaki stands growing thicker. Children are already crowding around the mask stand, harping at the vendor excitedly, while others are already lining up at the numerous game booths.

It’s always a relief to see the village in good spirits — a reminder of exactly what Tenzou would lay his life down to protect.

The sound of a familiar voice makes Tenzou shift from his perch. Tugging his mask down, he finds the perfect vantage point on a tree, and from his position crouched on a branch, he spots Iruka herding a line of children with costume hats and holding props towards the small stage. Iruka crouches in front of his youngest class, giving them a pep talk before he ushers them up onto the stage.

As the children line up on stage and hold up their banners,proud parents, family, and friends gather to watch them recite their play and sing two musical numbers that regale the Shodaime and Nidaime’s great achievements. Iruka stands on the side stage, watching them proudly with a smile lingering at the corners of his lips. He isn’t in his uniform, save for the forehead protector, dressed instead in a dark royal blue yukata with a red obi around his waist, and a splash of patterned shapes on his sleeves and the bottom hem. His ponytail is also absent —  instead, Iruka had chosen to gather his hair up into a hasty bun.

Everything around Tenzou slows down to a halt, except for Iruka.

Iruka is a sight to behold. Tenzou finds his breath taken away as he remains frozen in place in the shadows, unable to tear his gaze away — he doubts that he can, even if he tries.

Tenzou doesn’t think he’s seen anyone so beautiful up until that moment. He’s seen Iruka in his uniform, seen him out of it too, but there’s something about how he looks now — loose strands of hair dancing with the soft breeze;there’s something about that dimpled smile, and the soft, fond look in his eyes as he makes encouraging gestures to his class whenever they get nervous and stutter their lines. Something kind and achingly gentle sits over Iruka like a halo, and amongst everyone else standing gathered, even some of the more nobler clans, Tenzou doesn’t think anyone can hold a candle to Iruka.

The world can burn around him and Tenzou doesn’t think he can ever stop watching Iruka, or ever look away.

(He doesn't want to.)

The entire play and off-tune song goes over Tenzou’s head, and before he knows it, the play has come to an end, and the gathered crowd is applauding the grinning children. Iruka’s smile is toothily bright and wide, and Tenzou can’t remember a time when he’s seen him this happy, as the children clamber down the stage and gather around his waist, wrapping arms around him and jumping up and down as he kneels to their eye-level and starts congratulating them one by one for a job well done by pinning a cut out gold star on a ribbon to their yukata collars.

Tenzou doesn’t know how anyone can’t see how incredible this man is, how his smile stands out the brightest in the crowd, the North Star in the night sky. Tenzou can’t even begin to understand how Iruka doesn’t have a family by now, or why there isn’t a line of suitors pining for his affections, his smile, his _everything_ , when his hands are so gentle and he is so kind, so considerate, the warmest human being in existence. Tenzou knows that Iruka must have taken the time to cut out ever single gold star badge, must have spent nights gluing them on ribbons and pins for just this moment. Tenzou doesn’t even know how — or why — no one is looking at Iruka now, when he is easily the most beautiful man in the entire square.

(Relief floods through Tenzou, as he finds himself suddenly grounded by the sight of Iruka, even with all the distance between them. This is what he needs to see, and a part of him, warm and soft and so small, wants to pull his mask down, tug the hood off, and move out of the shadows and into the light, to wrap arms around that wonderful man, feel the warmth against his body and taste that smile. It’s only been a little over a week and yet it suddenly feels like months.)

Tenzou snaps out of his daze when Monkey's presence lands beside him. Tenzou gives Iruka one last look, watching him flush in mild irritation, his nose wrinkling, as he breaks up what looks like an argument between some of the children. Ah, Tenzou thinks, they’re going to get a lecture.

Monkey’s curious head tilt is ignored as Tenzou leaps to the higher branches and changes his vantage point, unable to stop himself from looking over his shoulder once more and feeling something vicious and primal gnarl under his chest when the distance between him and Iruka grows. It settles down when Tenzou decides to go see Iruka once his patrol shift is over.

*

Nothing out of ordinary happens as Tenzou leaps from one vantage point to the other, circling the perimeter of the festivities and commandeering snacks in between. He realizes that he should have probably had a full meal before putting on the uniform. A few sticks of yakitori and tornado potato isn’t going to keep him full for very long.

It is a little before sunset when Tenzou notices a mild disturbance in the flow of shinobi within the larger crowd in the square. He spots a few chuunin and jounin talking to each other and rushing off in different directions. Familiar faces of the Academy staff Tenzou had seen in the roster included in the briefing make an appearance and amongst them, is Iruka looking harried and worried, a flush high on his cheeks. Somewhere down the road, the parade had already started and the loud beat of drums drowns out the sounds of everything else.

Crane lands on the roof beside Tenzou, as silent as the gentle breeze. She tips her head to the dispersing chuunin and jounin. “One of the children slipped away from the assigned escort for the evening. They can’t find him. He was last seen heading towards the river. And with the incoming parade…”

Tenzou straightens and sighs under his mask. “We’ll keep a tight perimeter. Let the others know to keep a lookout. Do we have a name?”

“Masafumi Toshio.” Crane stands.

Tenzou stills at the familiar name, his gaze automatically searching the crowd beneath him and there, heading towards the river, is Iruka. The entire thing suddenly makes a lot more sense. “All right. You know what to do.”

Crane dips her head and disappears. If the boy is found, the team will send out the signal.

Tenzou takes off towards the river, scattering a few wood clones around the village square vantage points and follows after Iruka.

*

In the towering canopy of Konoha’s north eastern forest, Tenzou spots Iruka conversing with Monkey. With just ten meters between them, Tenzou can read Iruka’s lips as he describes what Toshio looks like, gesticulating with his hands.

“He’s small for his age, wiry, about thirteen kilos, one meter in height. Brown eyes, silver hair. He’s wearing a gray yukata, blue obi.”

Tenzou doesn’t linger. He takes the information he needs and begins his search, too.

As dusk paints the sky and the shadows begin to thicken in the forest, Tenzou still hasn’t heard three well timed whistles to signify that the boy has been found. He sighs. Lost children tend to be the likely victims of kidnapping and ransom, and while Konoha is a relatively safe village, she is not free of all crimes. Perverts, and plenty of questionable individuals still walk amongst her streets. It’s difficult to track down a five year old who has barely developed chakra channels, which makes them easy victims and targets. Tenzou casts a wary look at the sky and expands his search perimeter, heading further towards the hills and leaping over dangerous ditches that would be so easy for little children who run away from adults to fall into.

It had to be pure _luck_ when Tenzou hears a small whimper, soft and muffled, accompanied by a crunch of leaves. He goes still for a moment, and when he hears it again, he pinpoints the location, and there, seated on the grass against an oak tree, is Toshio, biting his lower lip and dabbing at his scuffed knee with the edge of his yukata sleeve.

Other than the welling of tears and the bleeding scuffed knee, Tenzou sees no other injury as relief floods his chest and he makes his presence known. Toshio freezes, staring up at the menacing gleam of Tenzou’s cat mask, little fingers beginning to shake as he pushes himself further up against the tree trunk.

“Masafumi Toshio,” Tenzou says, voice muffled by the mask. “Your teacher is looking for you. I’m taking you back.”

He can see the resistance building up in Toshio’s throat and before he can voice a sound of protest or say anything foolish and resist, Tenzou channels enough chakra and gently puts him to sleep when he presses two of his fingers to the boy’s forehead. Toshio’s eyes roll back and Tenzou catches him in an arm, picks him up and sends the signal out himself to relay the message that the boy has been found and to end the search party on all fronts.

*

Keeping still proves to be a challenge.

Standing by the edge of the river and watching the festivities continue, Iruka had stopped searching and dispersed his clones when Raidou had approached him to relay the message that the boy had been found. And while Toshio will likely be returned to the orphanage directly, Iruka can’t shake the worry out of his nerves.

This has to be every teacher’s nightmare, to lose a student in public and within a festive crowd. Iruka had turned for a second after disrupting the fight between Toshio and his classmates. One moment, Iruka was breaking up the fight, the next, he was suddenly swarmed by parents asking him a hundred questions at a time and he had taken his sight off Toshio for a minute — one goddamn minute.

He had spotted the orphanage’s current caretaker a few feet away and had _assumed_ that Mana-san would have Toshio with her. He should have known better than to assume, because while the caretakers at the orphanage are capable of doing their jobs and taking care of the children, they aren’t exactly the kind to pay attention a hundred percent — too many children, too little staff, such poor time management. Iruka knows this because Mana-san is always late when she is picking up Toshio and the other orphans from the Academy, and that she is severely overworked.

Iruka doesn’t blame her for any of this.

Doesn’t blame the orphanage, either.

It’s a new system the Sandaime implemented three years ago that performs well in terms of budget. Centralizing shinobi orphans between the sensitive ages of three and seven for sixteen months in a controlled environment statistically improved their overall ability to not just manage their own budget and emotional capacity to function after a sudden loss, but also minimized medical related incidents like food poisoning and sometimes, accidental death. They’re provided with training on how to take care of themselves before they are released to either their family homes, foster care or just assigned a small matchbox of an apartment.   

It has proven to establish a sense of camaraderie.

(Iruka certainly would have preferred to be in an orphanage when he was younger, thinks that a hundred other kids, like Naruto and Sasuke would have benefitted from coming home to a group of children as opposed to going home alone. Iruka remembers sharing lunch with Naruto when he was five just because the boy didn’t know how to manage his money, that he’d be tricked into overpaying because the village hated him, probably hoped they can starve the boy for sins that aren’t even his fault. Sasuke had been a little more intelligent, had been better equipped to take care of himself, but Iruka had seen the look in his eyes when he would watch elder siblings pick up his classmates. Had seen the longing and infinite sadness that Sasuke tucked away behind a scowl before stomping off to go home to a compound that was far too big for one little boy.

 _Better late than never, ne, Iruka,_ Sandaime had said one day when they were discussing how the orphaned children were performing in class.)

The only reason the system still remains after Sandaime’s death is because the council acknowledges that it’s sensible. And while it operates on strict schedules, the staff turnover is too high; civilians just aren’t equipped to handle shinobi children.

Iruka doesn’t blame Mana-san.

He blames his fucking self.

Iruka paces the grounds a few times and looks up at the darkened sky. He should find Mana-san, maybe offer a hand for the evening, make sure the rest of the kids in her care makes it to the orphanage without any more trouble. He isn’t sure if it’s a chuunin, jounin or an ANBU who had found Toshio, but Iruka trusts that the boy would be in safe hands.

It is the sudden flaring presence behind him that makes Iruka whip his head around so quickly that he almost gets whiplash. And right there, standing in the shadows of the towering oak trees is the cloaked figure of a patrolling ANBU, chakra suddenly tightly suppressed once more, white mask gleaming under the moonlight. Toshio is cradled against the ANBU’s chest, unmoving and silent, and when Iruka crosses the distance between them, coming to a halting stop before the ANBU, he spots red staining the hem of Toshio’s yukata and a badly scuffed knee.

“I found him near the hills,” the ANBU says, and carefully shifts his hold on Toshio’s unconscious body.

“Thank you,” Iruka says, and carefully takes the boy off the ANBU’s arm, tucking Toshio against his shoulder as relief washes over him. “Thank you for finding him. Thank you for helping. I’m so sorry you and your team got dragged into this, we should — I should have been paying more attention —“

“It’s not a problem. My team and I are glad to have been of assistance.”

Iruka goes rigidly still.

He _knows_ that voice and for a moment he forgets to breathe, stares a little too long, eyes widening.

This isn’t the first time Iruka has been exposed to ANBU. Back when Naruto had been his student, especially during his younger years, Iruka had always known that an ANBU detail had trailed behind Naruto. A few times when Naruto had attempted to vandalize the Hokage monuments, Iruka had ANBU members bringing Naruto over to him by the scruff of his neck, or sometimes, just pointed Iruka in the right direction. Iruka had recognized a bird mask of sorts back then, and what had looked like a feline, and sometimes, a dog.

Iruka knows that the masks differ in shape and paint, that Konoha favors the use of animals as codenames compared to other villages. But there’s something about the painted red crescent on the corner the this cat mask’s eye holes and the curls of green around his temple and jaw that makes Iruka blink and stare, slightly slack jawed in wonder at the dark eyes hidden behind the mask.

It can’t be Tenzou. Tenzou wouldn’t risk exposing himself to Iruka this way, would he?

“Take the boy home,” the ANBU suddenly says, and takes a step back. “Enjoy the festival.”

Iruka blinks away, color exploding on his cheeks as he clears his throat and ducks his head, dismissing the thought away, even when everything in him tells him that it’s Tenzou. “Yes, yes, of course. Thank you —“

The cat-masked ANBU is gone, leaving Iruka standing there by himself with an unconscious boy in his arms. He looks around and stretches his senses and finds that he is seemingly alone. Sighing a little audibly, Iruka looks down at the sleeping boy and carefully lowers him down on the ground, patting Toshio awake. Toshio wakes slowly, and just like Iruka predicts, Toshio begins to struggle the moment he sees Iruka. The panic and anger and bitterness comes out as he throws a tantrum, doesn’t listen to Iruka asking him to calm down, starts swatting at Iruka’s hands and kicking at the grass, aggravating the scuff on his knee with the sharp kicks.

“Toshio — Toshio — stop, stop —“ Iruka blocks the punch and carefully grasps Toshio by the shoulder, knowing that the boy is just afraid, hurt, and alone. Iruka tugs him up and wraps his arms around him, hushing him and holding him tight, closing his eyes as little fists coming down in weak blows.

“Stop pretending like you care! You don’t! Go away! Leave me alone!” Toshio screams against the fabric of Iruka’s yukata. Iruka shakes his head at the words, hands carding through Toshio’s hair and rubbing small circles on his back. Toshio comes apart then, crying in earnest and wrapping skinny arms around Iruka’s neck.

They stay there, hidden under the shadow of the trees, dirt and grass pressing into Iruka’s knees as he holds the boy who feels incredibly alone on a night that should be spent with family and friends. Iruka knows a little too well what that feels like, to watch your classmates walk away with their mothers and fathers, their aunts and uncles and grandparents, to want to feel the safe hand of an adult wrap around your smaller one. Iruka knows what it’s like to be left alone in the playground, or the Academy yard, waiting and wishing for parents to come that never, ever will again.

Iruka knows what it’s like to feel unwanted.

It’s why he doesn’t let go of the boy, doesn’t release his embrace until the sobs subside and Toshio falls quiet on his shoulder.

“I care,” Iruka says softly, and very gently pulls Toshio away to look him in the eyes, patting his cheek dry with the sleeve of his yukata. “I care more than you know, Toshio. If something had happened to you, I would be very sad. I was so worried. I looked everywhere for you. And look, you’re hurt. Let me fix that for you, okay?”

Toshio gives a small, weak sniffle but holds still when Iruka channels mild chakra to heal the bleeding scab on his knee. It’s times like these that Iruka is glad that Sandaime made it mandatory that all instructors at the Academy undergo basic medical field training. The cut slowly heals, Toshio wincing and biting his lower lip, but otherwise not resisting. When the skin is smooth, Iruka carefully helps Toshio up on his feet and begins to dust off the dirt from his yukata, straightening the collar and tightening the knot of his obi.

“There. All better,” Iruka says, cheeks dimpling, as he tugs at the sleeve of his own yukata and starts wiping off the grime and tear tracks from Toshio’s cheek.

“I’m sorry, Iruka-sensei.” Toshio digs his sandals into the grass, fingers bunching up the sleeves of his yukata as his eyes begin to water with tears he tries to hold back.

“Why did you run away?” Iruka asks, smoothing over the silver strands before he pulls his hands away.

“They wouldn’t let us see the fireworks and play games. When they promised they would. Mom and dad — last year — we always go. And Mana-san said we would go, like the other kids but then…” Toshio reaches up and brings a sleeve to cover his face.

“You should have come to me, Toshio.” Iruka tugs the hand the down. “You shouldn’t have run away. Next time — no, no, Toshio, listen for a moment, please. Next time something like this happens, I need you to come tell me. I will find the time to take you around. But you have to tell me. So.” Iruka reaches up carefully, tugging his forehead protector down and tucking it into the inner pocket. “Tonight, I am your friend, not your teacher. This is my suggestion. Let’s go find Mana-san, let her know that you’ll be with me until the fireworks end. I’ll take you back after and until then, we’re going to have fun and try some of the games and snack stands together. Is that something you would like to do?”

Iruka smiles at the wide eyed look Toshio is giving him, and can’t help but reach out to gently pat his head. Toshio suddenly flushes, as the last look of doubt dissipates from the corners of his wide brown eyes and he finally nods.

“Promise you’re not lying?” Toshio asks.

“Toshio, I’m a terrible liar.” Iruka grins, toothy and wide as he straightens up to his feet, dusting the fabric of his yukata. “Oh before I forget, you dropped this.” Iruka pulls out the the gold star pin one of his other kids had given him after he had stopped the fight. He carefully pins it back on Toshio’s collar. It’s a little crooked, and the star a little crumpled but it is still a lovely bright flash of color, just like the shy flush that stains over Toshio’s cheeks. “You did very well today in your role as Nidaime-sama. I am very proud of you, Toshio.”

When he offers his hand and Toshio reaches out and grasps his fingers with a very small, grateful smile suddenly spreading across his face, something warm blooms in Iruka’s chest. Iruka isn’t sure if he hears it right, but he could have sworn that something in the trees had moved. When he looks over his shoulder, there is nothing but the inky blackness of the forest.

*

Iruka can feel the hairs at the back of his neck stand on edge, unable to shake away the feeling of being watched. Every time he looks over his shoulder, he spots nothing out of the ordinary and sees the throng of Konoha’s citizens enjoying the festival.

Iruka keeps his promise and shows Toshio a good time. They catch goldfish together and win little toys and bags of snacks at the senbonhiki stand. They eat yakisoba and cherry and watermelon flavored kakigori under the sakura trees, as Toshio sits cross-legged watching the two small goldfish swim around in the bag. And when the fireworks light up and splash green, gold, red, and blue lights all across the sky, the glittering, happy smile on Toshio’s face makes the entire evening worth Iruka’s time.

But the feeling of being watched doesn’t leave Iruka.

It returns again, momentarily distracting Iruka, as he looks around the awed crowd under the colorful flashing lights, eyes straining across the river towards the inky dark foliage of the forest beyond the village square. Iruka knows it’s probably nothing and forcibly shakes the feeling away, when the fireworks ends and he finds Toshio looking up at him with something grateful.

“I’m ready to go back now, Iruka-sensei. Thank you,” Toshio says, goldfish bag in hand and the turtle plush toy tucked under his arm.

“All right,” Iruka smiles and picks Toshio up from the ground, sitting him on his shoulders and walking him back to the orphanage. The slightly muffled, happy sound Toshio makes is something Iruka pointedly doesn’t react to, if only because he knows Toshio will only get embarrassed, even when Iruka knows, that deep down, he’s incredibly happy.

He can’t give Toshio and kids like him the world, but for a brief moment, no matter how short, he can make them happy.

*

Alone and taking the quieter route back to his apartment from the orphanage, Iruka finally feels the extent of his exhaustion settle into his bones. The stress of preparing his class to perform, Toshio getting lost, and the lack of sleep from the past week due to preparing the props, costumes, and spring break assignments, comes crashing down like a pile of bricks. The ache in his shoulders and joints is almost unbearable and Iruka wishes, like he has many times before, that he owns a tub. He most certainly could do with a nice long soak in a hot bath, maybe drown himself in relaxing oils and salts and feel the ache melt away. He neither owns a tub, nor can he find the energy to walk halfway across town to the onsen.

It’s a blessing that he has the next two weeks off to himself — Iruka is looking forward to being a vegetable for at least a full day.

Iruka’s dragging feet comes to a sudden stop at his apartment entrance, because there, at the bottom of the stairwell, the gleam of the Konoha faceplate catches in the light, as a familiar figure straightens and steps out of the shadows. Tenzou is dressed in black uniform pants and the kind of boots that Iruka knows isn’t handed out to chuunins and jounins. There is something tender in his gaze and a ghost of smile dancing around the corners of his lips, the kind that suddenly has Iruka’s knees feeling a little too feeble, the traitorous tendril of affection suddenly blooming under Iruka’s rib cage. The only thing out of place is the white t-shirt over the singlet that is tugged up to Tenzou’s chin and the candied apple wrapped in cellophane plastic in his hand. It softens the harsh lines of what Iruka knows to be the ANBU uniform, which makes its wearer look intimidating even without the armored plates, vest, and mask.

Under the street light, Iruka can see the slightly ashy pallor of Tenzou’s face. There are dark bags under Tenzou’s eyelids, his cheekbones just a little pronounced, his lips dry around the edges. Iruka can see the skin cracking over the curves of that lovely mouth, and by the heavens, Tenzou looks like shit. He isn’t even standing very upright, knees slightly bent and shoulders hunched just a little bit. There is something disheveled about the look, something hurried, hastily put together, when Tenzou is almost always immaculate, as smooth as a polished mirror.

Iruka thinks that maybe he’s just seeing things and overanalyzing what’s before him.

It’s been eleven days.

“Tenzou-san…” Iruka says, soft and breathless, lost in the sound of the rickshaw rattling by on the street. “Welcome back.”

“Missed me?” Tenzou’ voice is quiet, as he waves the candied apple; it’s one of Iruka’s favorite festival snacks.

“Yes,” Iruka says, unable to keep the flinch from tugging at his features as he quickly ducks his head and the heat floods up to his cheeks. “I wasn’t — I mean you’re usually gone a lot longer, not that I was keeping track, of course — well, I was hoping you’d be back sooner, obviously, that is to say…” The words trail away when Iruka looks up to find the smile on Tenzou’s chapped lips broadens. Iruka watches how it softens the corners of his eyes, how the laugh lines suddenly become visible over that almost always neutral expression, and really, Iruka can’t help but stare, powerless in the wake of something so achingly beautiful and affectionate.

It’s a little stupefying, how that incredibly personable smile deepens the flush on Iruka’s cheeks, one that burns under his skin, curling all the way to the tips of his ears. Tenzou’s dark eyes glimmer like expensive black marble, the kind that Iruka had seen in grand, lavish temple steps during his time as an active field shinobi, reflective and gleaming like the night sky. Iruka knows Tenzou is amused; Iruka had learned to pick up on the little signs that disclose how Tenzou may feel. If that smile had curved a little bit to the left, then Iruka would know that Tenzou may be a little turned on, which in turn, would make the heat flood in Iruka’s belly, eliciting a shiver in his spine. If that smile pulled back a little wider and Iruka can see Tenzou’s incisors, he would have to brace himself, because he knows that Tenzou is going to pounce, pin him down on the ground or couch or bed, or up against the wall, whichever is closer, and have his way — use Iruka’s body, make him beg until his voice goes raw.

But the softer ones, like the ones that slightly tugs around the corners of his lips, but is just as bright and clear in his gaze, the ones he hides behind the rim of his tea cup or coffee mug or against Iruka’s skin, those, Iruka thinks, are the most beautiful.

Those are the smiles Iruka dreams of.

(Iruka has only seen it ever bleed into their fucking once, just under two weeks ago. Tenzou had kissed him so slowly, that smile melting into Iruka’s mouth, tasting as sweet as honey, and it’s all he could ever think of since then. It’s also the reason why Iruka thinks this needs to stop. Now.)

Iruka doesn’t realize how glad he is to see Tenzou until that very moment.

“I’m happy to see that you’re safe,” Iruka says, and his chest swells with something fervent and warm hearted, when he sees the slight flush on the curve of Tenzou’s cheeks bloom.

Tenzou ducks his head and clears his throat, nodding a little, looking a little shy all of a sudden, vulnerable in that simple gesture, his smile broadening just a little more, but without the salient gleam of unbridled need and want. Tenzou hums softly in response, and looks up a little through his lashes, before he reaches forward to brush a loose strand of hair off Iruka’s face. “You’re beautiful.”

The direct complement is unexpected, Iruka’s eyes going wide as the breath catches in his throat. For a moment, he thinks Tenzou is joking, that the corny line is just another teasing shot. Iruka can’t stop the huff of laughter, a hand coming up to his mouth as a flush spreads down Iruka’s throat and all the way to his chest. But Tenzou continues to look at him with that soft, serious look, no hint of a smirk on his lips, or a slight squint in his eyes, to infer that he’s trying to get a rise out of Iruka.

Tenzou isn’t teasing.

Iruka wants to call him a liar, wants to tell him to stop saying things like that, stop looking at him like _that_ , because those are things a lover would say and do. And they’re not lovers, they’re not together, and yet Iruka can’t voice a single noise of protest when Tenzou’s fingers reaches up to tug his hair tie free, sending silky strands spilling over his shoulders. Iruka doesn’t even have the power to say no, when Tenzou steps further into the glow of the streetlight, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and slanting his mouth over his, kissing him like a soldier coming home to his lover, fingers carding into his hair, brushing over the soft skin of Iruka’s nape.

The kiss is slow, deep, unrestrained in its want and search, Tenzou’s tongue caressing over the curve of Iruka’s lower lip. There is no measured caution, as Tenzou kisses him in the light, right there under Iruka’s apartment building where anyone could be looking, where anyone in the street can walk by and pause and stare. Iruka can’t think, can’t piece together what this could all mean, not when Tenzou pulls away slowly, when he kisses his chin and the underside of his jaw, and presses their foreheads together, fingers splaying behind Iruka’s head, holding the candied apple between them.

It’s such a small and sweet gesture. Almost romantic in a way, as Iruka accepts it with both his hands.

And suddenly it doesn’t matter, what they are, who they are, what their agreement is to each other.

Not in this moment, anyway.

Iruka closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Tenzou’s shoulders in a tight embrace, and sealing their mouths together once more, kissing him like how he’s been wanting to for the past eleven days — hot, desperate, and so fucking needy. He presses against Tenzou’s solid frame and leeches off the warmth that feels like the sun on the coldest of days. The world around Iruka fades to a soft hush, as he pulls away and drags Tenzou up the stairwell, their fingers laced together, his feet moving in quick, hurried steps that Tenzou matches. Iruka’s fingers are suddenly fumbling with his keys, unsteady in their grip as he unlocks the door, tugs Tenzou in and slams it shut with a loud bang.

There is a moment when Iruka remembers to place the candied apple on the counter, remembers to toe his sandals off before he pushes Tenzou against the door, pins all that muscle and power down with his slighter frame and kisses him hungrily, desperately, fingers carding through  Tenzou’s hair, tugging the faceplate off and letting it fall on the steps of the genkan with a dismissive clang. The t-shirt follows, falling in a discarded heap on the floor.

Tenzou doesn’t fight him, doesn’t stop looking at him with that softness in his gaze even when his hips jerk as Iruka undoes his pants, a softness that suddenly vanishes like a candle being snuffed out when his face suddenly pinches and he hisses and groans, hand slapping over Iruka’s wrist and holding it still when it brushes over his left side.

Iruka pulls off him immediately, sobering, his wrist still trapped in Tenzou’s firm hold.

“You’re hurt,” Iruka murmurs breathlessly, suddenly guilty, because he should have at least looked a little closer, should have thought better than to just jump Tenzou without thought, when he knows that Tenzou hasn’t even taken his uniform off yet, that he must have just gotten back.

“No,” Tenzou corrects, and instead of letting Iruka go, he places Iruka’s hand on his side, a slow and gentle press. Tenzou tugs Iruka closer, wraps Iruka’s fingers around the hem of his uniform singlet, guiding Iruka’s slightly trembling hands to pull it all the way up and off, and there, Iruka sees the new mark cutting upwards from Tenzou’s hip bone and stopping just a little under his chest. The keloid scar is jagged and thick, still a little pink, and will probably darken with time. Iruka is no stranger to tissue regeneration, knows that the area will be tender and very sensitive. There are bruises littering Tenzou’s body, signs of battle and a mission gone south judging from the hideously large scar on his side.

“You should be in a hospital, on a bed,” Iruka says, looking up from the scar, knees suddenly weak, a tremble in his voice that he can’t push away.

“I was.” Tenzou takes Iruka’s hand and gently presses it over the scar, holds it there. “I’m cleared.”

“Yet you came here, to me. In half your uniform. When you should have gone home.” Iruka tilts his head, a frown etching between his brows. “If I didn’t know better, Tenzou-san, I’d say you missed me.”

Tenzou leans his head back against the door, closing his eyes briefly as he sucks in a slow breath through his lips. Iruka looks at him like that, watches how something conflicting makes the pinch between Tenzou’s brows deepen. Iruka’s throat goes a little dry at the sight and he moves to take a step back, to pull his hands away, put some distance between them except Tenzou doesn’t let him. Tenzou looks at him with something that resembles a decision being made and says, “You’re not entirely wrong.”

“I’m not?” Iruka looks away waiting for the shoe to drop, and Tenzou reaches up to grasp him by the chin and tilt his head up.

“No,” Tenzou says, and the soft look is back, indulgent and open, almost like an admission that makes Iruka’s heart race. Tenzou slowly pushes Iruka back to hold him at arm’s length, dark gaze brushing over Iruka’s frame in a revering, heated stroke. “Gods, you’re fucking beautiful…”

Tenzou’s voice is breathless, like he can’t believe what he’s looking at.

It’s suddenly too much.

“Stop it.” Iruka shrugs the hands away dismissively, embarrassment heating up the entire length of his body as he takes a step back. But Tenzou grabs him again, holds him in place and presses a hand that is far too warm against his cheek.

“You are. I’ve been wanting to tell you that all night.” Tenzou presses their foreheads together and then wraps his arms around Iruka’s middle, envelopes him in warmth that Iruka has no strength or will to push away. “It’s so good to be back.”

Iruka closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Tenzou’s shoulders, holds onto him just a little longer before he pulls away and starts to slowly peel his yukata off his body. He takes his time, undoing the obi knot and letting it fall to the ground, his arousal stirring as Tenzou watches him bare every inch of skin in the dim light of his living room, watches as Tenzou’s gaze follows the fall of the fabric from his shoulders, how it pools at Iruka’s feet. Tenzou doesn’t resist when Iruka tugs him over, doesn’t fight Iruka’s fingers when pushes Tenzou’s pants down to his ankles.

Tenzou’s gaze doesn’t leave Iruka at all, doesn’t look away as Iruka tugs him into the spray of the warm shower, doesn’t even close his eyes when Iruka leans up to press wet kisses on his jaw and chin, tongue tracing smooth skin all the way up to Tenzou’s lips.

There is a certain slowness in the brush of Tenzou’s fingers on Iruka’s skin, a tenderness that’s never been there before as Tenzou kisses him and takes his time under the warm spray of the shower. Tenzou’s fingers thread through Iruka’s hair, rubbing gentle circles on his scalp as they soap and rinse off, with Iruka fingers pressing their cocks together. There is little distance between them,  their foreheads remaining pressed together like their bodies, Tenzou’s tongue flicking out in slow strokes over Iruka’s lips as Iruka strokes their cocks together, shoulder blades digging against the tiles and boxed in by Tenzou’s frame. Tenzou kisses a hot line down his throat, leaves a chain of red marks that has Iruka staring blearily at the steam wafting up to the ceiling as he shudders and moans, the strokes of his hands quickening, the wonderful, hard heat of Tenzou’s cock rubbing against his own.

The slowness of it all has Iruka gasping into Tenzou’s mouth as he comes breathlessly, a shuddering hot mess, cum spilling thick between his fingers and swirling down the drain. Iruka knows something is different when Tenzou comes with a strangled noise ripping past his throat, audible even against the harsh sounds of Iruka’s heaving breaths and the rush of the water hitting their bodies and the tiles.

Iruka knows then and there, as they rinse once more and dry off, when they fall into bed and Tenzou tugs him against his side, wrapping arms around him and whispering his name into his ear like a prayer, that he can’t do this anymore. Iruka can’t pretend that the feeling in his chest will go away anytime soon, not when Tenzou holds him like this, kisses him like he loves him, like he cares.

Tomorrow, Iruka decides. He’ll need to talk to Tenzou about this tomorrow.

*

Tomorrow comes with Tenzou feeling heavy and sluggish, his joints aching and his skin warm to the touch. He wakes up slow, groggy, and unable to focus, as the morning light spills through the cracks of the drawn drapes, a sharp line of light that illuminates polished wood. The street outside is already noisy and alive with the day’s bustling, and rattling of rickshaws and carts. Tenzou rarely sleeps in this much, and when he turns to the warmth pressed against his side, he can guess why he might have.

Iruka is fast asleep, cheek against his right shoulder, and fingers splayed over Tenzou’s bare stomach, cocooned under the covers that is tugged up to Iruka’s shoulder. Tenzou’s arm is a little numb from being used as a pillow, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t look away from the light that casts a glow over Iruka’s features, his hair catching a bit of gold in the sun’s brightness. Iruka is radiant and beautiful as he sleeps, relaxed and unguarded, soft lips parted for quiet breaths and lashes curling against his cheek. Tenzou brings his hand up, working through the numbness and watching as Iruka’s brows pinch at the slight movement, his fingers seeking purchase in the spill of soft brown hair, twirling a lock between his fingertips

Tenzou doesn’t think there’s anything more beautiful than having this ridiculously alluring and bright man, naked and warm, fast sleep beside him.

It has to be the fever making him think of sentimental things like beauty. Tenzou doesn’t deny how attracted he is to Iruka, doesn’t pretend otherwise. But there’s something about waking up like this, slow and unrushed, where time is of no consequence and there is only comfort, and warmth, and the body beside him that shifts and presses a little closer. Tenzou remains still as he stares at the ceiling, watching the shadows shift in the room, as he dozes on and off with Iruka remaining fast asleep and unmoving beside him.

Anyone would be lucky to wake up to Iruka like this, to have him shift in his sleep only to burrow a little closer. Tenzou imagines that Iruka could bring a lot of joy to a home, would be a dedicated lover and parent, if he chooses to have children. Tenzou can see it vividly, how Iruka would come and drop his satchel in the genkan, the pitter pattering feet rushing up to greet him, little arms throwing around his waist as he bends to his knees to wrap arms around his children. Tenzou would get his greeting with the children still hanging on to Iruka’s waist, he would have to lean forward to kiss Iruka on the mouth, feel Iruka’s smile widen as he murmurs a soft, _I’m home._

It doesn’t bother Tenzou that he is picturing himself as a family man, happy and content, coming home to Iruka, or waiting for Iruka to come home.

Tenzou knows he’s a nobody, someone replaceable, and anyone can take his place.

He pictures the same scenario with different people, some of Iruka’s colleagues and friends, men and women. He pictures it with Kakashi, too, and it does nothing to distort or change the fact that Iruka can and will make anyone deliriously happy. It doesn’t change the fact that Iruka’s smiles will glow the brightest in the arms of someone he comes home to.

It makes Tenzou wonder why Iruka doesn’t live like that yet, why he doesn’t have a family of his own when he is so capable of being the father and husband of the decade. Tenzou has seen him with his class, has seen him pour so much compassion, love, and dedication into children who aren’t even his. He had watched Iruka comfort Toshio like he was his own son. Tenzou remembers seeing the same with the Jinchuuriki, and hasn’t forgotten the report details — how Iruka had taken a weapon to the back, how he had to spend several days undergoing tissue regeneration.

It’s not like Iruka isn’t a good lover. He’s a fantastic lover.

Iruka shouldn’t be alone, Tenzou thinks, as he closes his eyes and dozes off again, setting aside his curiosity and thoughts.

Iruka doesn’t deserve to be alone.

*

Iruka stirs with a bit of a throaty noise, almost like a noise of complaint when a particularly loud rickshaw passes by the street. Tenzou opens his eyes, his vision swimming with the throbbing headache and the fever that is back and radiating under his skin, his nose also completely blocked. Iruka shifts and pulls away, and when Tenzou moves to change his arm position, to ease the numbness, a coughing fit gets triggered. He curls to his side, frame shaking as he coughs out the flu, now stickier and nastier, his sides throbbing with each violent cough.

“Goodness!” Iruka’s hands are on his bare back, rubbing circles as Tenzou coughs viciously. “Tenzou-san, you’re burning up!”

“It’ll break,” Tenzou says, voice raspy and thick, faded and words barely making it past the swollen tightness of his throat. “If you’ve got something –“

The cough drowns out the rest of the words and suddenly Iruka’s warmth is gone and Tenzou feels incredibly alone and exhausted. He forces himself to sit up, to lean against the headboard, hissing at the tenderness on his side, a hand rubbing at his sore chest. The coughing fit leaves him with a backache that he really doesn’t want to deal with. Tenzou doesn’t realize how he leans his head back against wooden frame of Iruka’s bed, how he had closed his eyes, whatever strength he had promptly leaving him like smoke disappearing into the air.

It is Tenzou’s own fault that he had exacerbated his flu symptoms. He should have stayed in bed, spend another day or two gathering his strength, before attempting to go out, even when he had felt momentarily better.

Tenzou only stirs when Iruka’s hands presses against his neck, when he gives him a mild shake and offers pills and a glass of water. Tenzou takes it obediently, and sits through Iruka’s fussing, just like he had predicted. He says nothing when Iruka makes him hot tea, drinking the ginger, honey, and lemon concoction without protest, and says not a word when Iruka tucks him back into bed, pressing icepacks under his armpits, groin and holding one to his forehead.

“Ahh, Iruka-sensei cares so much about me~” Tenzou teases.

“Of course, I care about you! How could I not!” Iruka sounds indignant.

“I’ll be fine. Give me a few hours. This is just the last bit of the fever, still trying to be stubborn.” Tenzou gives him a bit of a wry smile, as he reaches up with a hot hand to tuck a lock of brown hair behind Iruka’s ear. “Really, Iruka. Why aren’t you married to a lovely lady and populating Konoha with cheeky, little versions of yourself? Or why aren’t you with a nice guy and adopting kids like Toshio, giving them homes and raising them to be cute and cheeky just like you?”

Iruka goes very still at question, and Tenzou cants his head to the side on the pillow, watching as Iruka’s gaze slides away from him, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes. “That’s a little too personal of a question, don’t you think?”

“You’re a perfectly capable, honest, good looking, and hardworking citizen of Konoha, and really, _really_ good in bed. Most people I know who are your age already have families. Yet you’re here, picking up and taking care of strangers, letting me fuck you how I want, when I want.” Tenzou pauses and watches the color bloom over Iruka’s cheeks. It’s warm to the touch, and Tenzou can only press his palm against it, feel the heat radiate onto his skin. “At the very least, I would think you would have adopted an orphan by now.”

“Well it’s not for the lack of trying.” Iruka turns away and makes a motion to stand. Tenzou’s grip wraps around his arm, holds him in place. Iruka throws him an exasperated look. Tenzou doesn’t miss the cornered look in those alluring brown depths, the gleam most animals would have when they realise they are trapped and they begin to pace their confinement. “Obviously, the first criteria for adoption in Konoha is that I have to be married. Or be in a common-law union of sorts.

“No one wants to be married or be in a relationship with someone who wants to adopt the Jinchuuriki. So my choice on who to adopt already makes me an unlikely candidate. And if a single parent wishes to adopt, then they must provide proof of adequate income, time, and space to raise a child. Three of which I don’t have, if that isn’t obvious yet. Even if I am to raise a child in this tiny apartment, and we make do, between the Academy and the mission desk and what will be field missions on the weekend and holidays, I won’t be present enough to _parent_ and that beats the entire purpose of adopting.” Iruka pauses and looks at his hands. “So the most I could do is have Naruto over for dinners, maybe spend some nights of the summer with me, watch movies, play board games, take him to the nearby towns for trips, attend festivals with him. It’s not much, but it’s something.”

Tenzou knows the law. He isn’t surprised that Iruka didn’t make the cut. He’s surprised that he wanted to take home the monster everyone sees and call Naruto his own.

“Naruto, huh.”

“He’s a good boy. With a good heart and sensitive of everyone’s feelings. He understands suffering and what it means to lose what little he may have and what it means to have nothing. He understands loneliness, he understands hate, and still, he fights for what’s right. He may have been slow academically, but he makes up for it with tenacity, unyielding determination, hard work, and care. And if you’re one of those people who sees nothing but a monster, then I don’t give a fuck how sick you are. Get the hell out of my apartment.” Iruka jerks his arm viciously, standing up and giving him a firm look, dark and fiery, unbending determination. “And don’t come back.”

There is something magnificent about Iruka’s determination and firmness, something so beautiful in how Iruka defends Naruto’s honor, how deep the love for Naruto goes. Tenzou had been right in his thoughts. Iruka would make an incredible parent. Naruto would have been the happiest boy in the village if Iruka had adopted him.

“Relax,” Tenzou murmurs, sitting up and dislodging the ice packs, leaning against the pillows and the bed frame. “As far as I’m concerned, as long as the seal remains intact, he’s just another kid of Konoha. Now if that seal breaks and we’re dealing with the real monster, then I don’t care who he is. He is simply a threat.”

“You would kill him.” Iruka looks a little shaken, the color draining from his face.

“For Konoha’s safety?” Tenzou looks at Iruka, unblinking, expression neutral. “Without question. Doesn’t matter who they are.”

Iruka doesn’t look away, he doesn’t flinch in the wake of Tenzou’s unbending loyalty and determination. He stands there, looking down at him, the color returning to his face in a fiery flush as he narrows his eyes and gives Tenzou what has to be his hardest stare. “I know Naruto. He won’t ever let that happen. If there’s anyone who can control the Kyuubi, of find a way somehow, it would be him.”

Tenzou sighs and reaches up to tug Iruka back down to sit on the bed, fingers stroking over Iruka’s jawline. “Maybe you’re right.” Tenzou pauses. “I hope your faith isn’t misplaced.”

“It’s not.” Iruka remains still.

“You haven’t answered my question.” Tenzou points out and watches as tension pulls at Iruka’s neck, feels it pull taut under his palm.

“I’m not going to.” Iruka reaches up and pulls Tenzou’s hand away. “We don’t have that kind of arrangement.”

Tenzou can’t stop the wry smile from tugging up at his lips. He can see the discomfort, the way Iruka’s body remains as tight as a cocked bowstring, muscle definition more pronounced with how Iruka is trying to keep the tension in check. If he had his uniform on, concealing his discomfort would have been easy. But sitting there shirtless and in nothing but worn cotton pants, Tenzou can see everything.

(He would probably see it too, even if Iruka had the uniform on. Tenzou knows where to look. Has spent months looking.)

“Let’s pretend that we do.” Tenzou counters. “Unless you’re looking for power, fame, and title.”

Iruka openly scoffs. “Tenzou-san, if I wanted power, fame, and title, I would be in bed with — I don’t know, Sarutobi Asuma or Hatake Kakashi.”

Tenzou can’t stop his eyebrows from going up to his hairline.The statement had merit; Tenzou just didn't expect it. “Hatake Kakashi, huh.”

“Please. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not that shallow. I try to judge people by the content of their character rather than how they look. Kakashi-san may be physically attractive, but as far as I know, that’s all he is. Besides, name one person in the village who doesn’t want to get fucked by Hatake Kakashi.” Iruka looks away and Tenzou can’t stop the chuckle this time.

Tenzou knows Iruka is deflecting by dipping into the rumor mill, trying hard to cling to every other topic that will steer the conversation away from the core of the question. He can see obvious signs of anxiousness in how Iruka can’t even meet his gaze, how he keeps his chin tucked in, how his shoulders remain tight, how he keeps his body turned away from Tenzou, his arms crossed around the waist, fingers not lax, but balled into fists. There’s a certain nervousness to his body, toes curled in, ankles crossed and locked. Iruka is doing everything ROOT had pretty much programmed Tenzou to never betray. Tenzou doesn’t need to look into Iruka’s eyes to know that his pupils would be blown wide.

“Well, we’re not here to discuss Kakashi-senpai’s prowess in bed or his looks.” Tenzou dismisses that immediately, not really wanting to think of Kakashi at all when he’s got Iruka right before him; Tenzou didn’t want the reminder.

He takes hold of Iruka’s hand and tugs him towards his lap. Iruka resists at first, but concedes after another insistent tug, his hands coming to rest on Tenzou’s shoulders, hips straddling comfortably over Tenzou’s lap. Iruka isn’t going to answer his question, Tenzou knows that. There is a pinch between Iruka’s brows this time, something hardening in his eyes as he holds Tenzou’s gaze. Iruka is upset, and under it, there’s a visible hurt that surprisingly sits like a bad stomachache in Tenzou’s gut. He drops his gaze to Iruka’s chest, stares at the tight clench of muscle, how everything in Iruka is preparing for a fight, preparing to defend himself.

Tenzou looks up at Iruka, and watches how the gold specks in the depths of his brown eyes reflect in the afternoon sun. He wants to tell him that he has no reason to feel intimidated, that he wouldn’t dream of hurting him, that a fight or flight response on someone so beautiful looks ugly. He’s someone who deserves the world.

“It’s not Kakashi-san I care about, or want, Tenzou-san.” Iruka says, soft and quiet, the smile that tugs up on his lips looks resigned, almost defeated. Tenzou doesn’t pull away when Iruka cups his face in his palms, doesn’t pull away when something strains in that smile. Iruka leans forward pressing his lips on the curve of Tenzou’s ear, whispering, “It’s you.”

The warmth that suddenly floods Tenzou’s chest is unexpected, makes the breath catch in Tenzou’s throat.

It’s not a bad feeling, being cared for by Umino Iruka.

(It’s actually quite pleasant and something Tenzou thinks he can get used to.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A cute anon over at tumblr sent me a clip of Brooklyn 99 where Rosa was staring at Gina in slomo coz she's so beautiful. Tenzou spacing out up there while on duty coz Iruka is so gorgeous is a nod to you, anon! 
> 
> Also, more Iruka-kids interaction!
> 
> I headcanoned that Sandaime established a system after Naruto that teaches kids to take care of themselves. I find it fucking weird that someone as intelligent as him (or anyone for that matter) would turn a blind eye to shinobi orphans, leave them unmonitored or uncared for when these will be part of Konoha's forces, basically. That is just fucking weird. Not saying Sandaime was the best leader, but really, with how shitty Konoha's system is, one would think they can control those kids and train them for future use/gain later. 
> 
> Come say hi @pinkcatharsis


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd. Might have missed a bunch of shit.

Tenzou falls asleep and doesn’t wake until it’s dark outside.

Iruka thinks he should take this show of trust as a compliment, that Tenzou deems his apartment to be a place safe enough for him to be vulnerable and weak, to be able to sleep undisturbed, curled on his side, burrowed into Iruka’s pillows and blanket. That to be trusted is a far greater compliment than to be loved. It’s a warming thought, comforting to the wanting ache that had no direction to go but inwards, a balm that Iruka hopes will be enough. Watching Tenzou sleep from across the living room, Iruka almost believes that this can be enough. That he can be happy like this, however brief their moments together may be.

Tenzou stirs awake quietly as he always does, feet silent as he pads straight for the bathroom and the door shuts with a soft click.

A part of Iruka screams that this needs to end. Yells and bangs against the prison of his ribcage that prolonging this will only make it more difficult, will only serve to hurt him.

Because the truth is, Iruka already knows this is his third love.

Iruka heard in a movie sometime last year before everything with Mizuki went to shit for the second time, that real love comes blindly. It creeps upon you silently.

And you can put up any wall you want, can wear the thickest of armors and that love will tear it all down. You’ll find yourself caring about that person without trying, and worst, without _realizing_. They are nothing like anyone you’ve encountered before; you’d fall for quirks you didn’t think you’d like, and sometimes, it’s enough to just look into their eyes and get lost in it every single time. There is beauty in their imperfections and without you realizing it, you will stop hiding most things from them, and gradually, you’ll hide nothing from them.

You would want a home with them, you’d want a life with them, even when you thought you never needed those things.

You thank the universe for them.

You truly love them.

Iruka closes his eyes when he hears Tenzou come out of the bathroom, pressing the shake of his hand down on the counter as he waits for the tea to steep. Tenzou’s arms wrap around him, fingers splaying under the thin fabric of Iruka’s tank top, fingers so warm on Iruka’s stomach, his touch scattering goosebumps all over his body as Tenzou presses flush against Iruka’s back. They stand quiet, wordless in the sound of the dripping tap, the bustling street outside, and the sound of their quiet breaths under the flashing street signs reflecting on the ceiling.

Iruka thinks this is what perfection is, how there is nothing unrestrained in the comfort of their closeness.

How it’s been like this for a long, long time, now.

Iruka knows he’s been lonely for a while, has never really picked up all the shattered pieces of himself since Mizuki, the wound further exacerbated with Sandaime’s death and then, not long after, Naruto’s departure. In a career line that surrounds him with people and friends and constant comings and goings of the village, it’s almost silly that Iruka still feels so isolated and alone.

But when Tenzou holds him like this, when they stand together with no words between them, nothing but the grounding warmth and solid presence, Iruka can believe that he’s whole.

Tenzou suddenly shifts with a hum of surprise, lifting his forehead from the comfortable nest of Iruka’s neck, long fingers reaching out to brush on the leaves of the not as lively looking chamomile plant sitting on Iruka’s kitchen’s window sill.

“It started to wilt for some reason,” Iruka explains. “So I moved it here where the sun isn’t too warm by midday. I was going to pick up some new soil—” Iruka stops talking when he  feels the chakra that thrums and course through Tenzou’s body. He watches as the yellowed drooping edges on the chamomile petals and leaves disappear completely, and what sits perched on his kitchen window is now a lively chamomile plant, not a trace of rot anywhere.

“There,” Tenzou says, and pulls his hand away from the small plant pot, returning back to it’s comfortable resting perch on Iruka’s stomach. “Better, hmm?”

“That’s…” Iruka blinks, unsure what to make of what he had just seen. He doesn’t know of anyone who can revive dying plants, if a medical jutsu can be applied to plants. “That’s very fine chakra control, Tenzou-san.”

Tenzou’s hands slide over to Iruka’s hips, turning him around slowly, boxing him against the kitchen counter, studying him for the longest moment. The piercing gaze is enough to make Iruka fidget, a flush rising up to his cheeks; months into this arrangement and this behavior, Iruka would think he’d be used to Tenzou’s quiet and openly assessing stares. Tenzou lips slowly presses to a decisive thin line, as he takes a step back and puts his hands together, moulding chakra between his palms. Nothing could have prepared Iruka for that moment, as his eyes widen in part wonder and part shock, as a small wooden pot solidifies and expands between Tenzou’s palms, coming right out of his skin, little sprouts forming and opening up to lush green leaves, its tips shaping into buds that blooms to large and strikingly crimson daisies.

Iruka stares at the pot with utter shock, the mokuton abilities that Tenzou possessed beginning to register. Iruka knows of only person in the history of Konoha who had the ability to fuse water and earth to create a completely new and solid element. Iruka also knows for a fact that there is no record of anyone from the Shodaime’s line, where the kekkei genkai was passed on. Not even Tsunade possessed her grandfather’s legendary abilities.

Then it hits him.

The crimes Orochimaru was accused of, illegal human experimentation, an attempt to genetically fuse the Shodaime’s DNA with living subjects -- the memory flares, vivid and bright because these are the kind of horrors that not a lot of people can easily forget. Iruka remembers the period and reports of children gone missing, how the adults used to scare kids like him about rebelliously sneaking and wandering out of class, because they might take you, they might kidnap you and where would you be if you were gone? Do you think that just because it’s not dark outside, they won’t take you?

Iruka remembers being small and afraid of the dark, always looking at the windows, always walking under a streetlight and away from the lingering shadows of the streets, fearing that someone may really take him away. He remembers not taking the alleys or smaller streets during the day too, staying away from the forests where he would spend his time playing and reading.

(He also remembers realizing that no one will probably even notice that he was gone because he didn’t matter, that by the time any of the adults did, it would probably be already too late.)

Iruka remembers when it had all come to light, when he had overheard his Academy teachers talking about the how the Sandaime had issued the order to bring Orochimaru in, the very day Orochimaru officially made it to the bingo book. It was all the adults had whispered about behind their hands, one of the legendary sannins labelled a traitor.

As far as Iruka knows, none of the subjects lived. Or at least that was the information that was deemed public knowledge amongst shinobis.

But here’s Tenzou, carefully handing him the beautiful plant, one that Iruka takes with slightly trembling fingers as he looks up from the bright blossoms to meet Tenzou’s heavy gaze. There’s a pointed and almost measuring look, a million unspoken words passing in the echoing silence.

“Red daisies are often overlooked. It’s not as striking as an orchid, or a plum blossom, or even heathers or hibiscus. They all represent beauty. This one, however, reminds me of you.” Tenzou leans over and presses his lips to Iruka’s ear. “Beauty unknown to the possessor.”

Iruka’s sucks in a sharp breath and watches as Tenzou pulls away, pitch black pupils studying the shock that Iruka _knows_ is still all over his face. Iruka knows he should say something, put words to the thoughts swirling in his mind, let Tenzou know the almost alarming conclusion his mind is reaching. Iruka opens his mouth to say something, but ends up sucking in a shaky breath instead, his body trembling with it as it dawns on him how Tenzou has just revealed a part of his identity to him, maybe even his history if Iruka’s assumptions are correct.

And if his assumptions are wrong, then he’s an unknown descendant from the Shodaime’s line. Perhaps even a bastard, one that clan politics had deemed unworthy to exist.

(Iruka knows there is no way he can end whatever this thing is between them now, no way he can tell Tenzou that he can’t do this anymore. How do you do that to someone who trusts you enough with parts of them not a lot of people know? If at all? If people knew of Tenzou and his abilities, it would have been in the gossip vine a long time ago. Iruka would surely have heard of someone with mokuton abilities, even if it was just a rumor.)

But Iruka takes too long to respond, too long to say thank you, to lean over and kiss Tenzou the way he suddenly really, really wants to. Too long, that Tenzou ducks his head, bites his lower lip as he smothers something that looks like disappointment, tension pulling between his brows and the corners of his eyes, shoulders pulling back with a rigidity that shouldn’t even be there.

Tenzou isn’t even sure what had fucking possessed him to do that, other than the fact that he had wanted to give Iruka something beautiful because that is what Iruka deserves. Perhaps it is a little too farfetched to expect Iruka to understand, to not have him be starstruck by the abilities that was forcibly fused into his body by a monster. Perhaps it is too much to expect Iruka to show him the same acceptance he had hoped to receive —  like Naruto or Toshio, and surely several others before them. After all, he is just a vessel for someone with great abilities, a supposed hope for a great many things, except Tenzou had turned out to be beyond subpar to the Shodaime himself.

A poor excuse of a replacement for someone far too great.

(At most, he had hoped for the same reaction Kakashi had given him when he had found out _what_ he was. Kakashi didn’t even care, didn’t even bat an eyelash at the boy who had spent most of his time in a holding tank, imprisoned by a twisted traitor.)

Tenzou pushes himself away, reaches up to brush a loose lock of Iruka’s hair off his face before he turns to start tugging his singlet and t-shirt on. He’s not worried about Iruka flapping his mouth; Iruka isn’t the type. But the yawning disappointment in his chest is something he can’t really turn a blind eye to. Tenzou had spent years proving to every ANBU member that he is capable, that his abilities may not be as great as the Shodaime, that he certainly is not a legend to live up to that kind of name, but he is about as devastating as they come, strong and unyielding,

He had hoped Iruka would be an exception, that he wouldn’t have to prove anything to him.

Tenzou is not sure why he had _hoped,_  that he even knew how to hope for things for himself. Clearly, he had hoped for too much.  It had been a shot in the dark anyway, showing Iruka what he is.

“Y-You’re leaving,” Iruka stammers as Tenzou carefully tugs the hem of his singlet over his tender side. “But you just got here and, wait, _wait_ \-- please wait.” The sound of the plant pot being set down sharply doesn’t stop Tenzou from picking up his t-shirt. But Iruka’s hands grab Tenzou by the wrist, and Tenzou holds still. Iruka’s eyes are imploring, wide, unsure, a flush high on his cheeks. “Please stay. Unless you’re being summoned, or have business to attend to, I want you to stay. Or at least come back.”

A moment of silence passes between them, as Tenzou stares at Iruka with surprise, caught off guard by the request. “Are you sure you want me around?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Iruka looks taken aback and Tenzou can’t stop the slide of his gaze towards the pot of daisies on the counter. Iruka follows his gaze and when their eyes meet again, something flickers in Iruka’s eyes and suddenly, he’s crossing the space between them, wrapping his arms around Tenzou’s shoulders and slanting his mouth over his, kissing Tenzou like he’s a lifeline. It’s all heat and desperation and so impetuous, that Tenzou can’t stop the soft sound of surprise from leaving his throat. Iruka’s fingers holds on to him so tightly, like Iruka is trying to keep Tenzou from being uprooted, soft fingers caressing his neck over the thrum of his pulse. Iruka parts for breath for a moment, lips brushing over Tenzou’s chin as his his voice drops to something small and quiet, almost vulnerable. “Tenzou-san, I _always_ want you around. I told you, didn’t I? I care about you.” Iruka closes his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. “ _Please_ don’t go.”

Tenzou can’t find it in him to say no, can’t find the strength to step back from the warmth of Iruka’s hold, or deny the request that looks so earnest. A part of him thinks that he’s a little disoriented from the remnants of the fever, that he’s still recovering and that’s why he’s suffering in a lapse of judgment. That had to be the reason -- even if standing here, in Iruka’s apartment that feels more like a home than his own apartment will ever be, feels like the rightest thing in the world.

Iruka presses his palms over his cheeks, and whatever warning Tenzou’s mind might think of cooking up, crumbles to ashes as Tenzou nods slowly with flooding relief that Iruka wants him to stay, wants him around, doesn’t want him to go at all.

“All right…” Tenzou murmurs.

Iruka’s smile in that moment, Tenzou thinks, is absolutely incandescent.

*

Iruka makes space for the red daisy plant pot on his night stand, close to the window where the sunlight would shine over it during the day.

“Wouldn’t the window sill be a better choice?” Tenzou asks, watching as Iruka gently runs his fingers over smooth red petals.

“If I put it here, when I see it in the morning, you’ll be the first thing I think of.” Iruka grins, dimples hollowing.

Tenzou couldn’t really form a verbal response to that, but he ducks his head in a nod and clears his throat when the heat suddenly begins to crawl up his neck in an unexpected flush.

*

The fever doesn’t leave Tenzou until two days later.

Tenzou spends the day reading a book on Iruka’s couch and succumbing to Iruka’s fussing. Iruka prepares congee, hakusai and okayu just for him. He spends most of the day holding Tenzou in his arms as they watch old television show reruns.

On the third day, Iruka asks him if he’s up for some fresh air, if he’d like to have dinner in the rooftop. Tenzou didn’t see the harm and agrees. Iruka packs their dinner into bento boxes and takes him to the roof, pointing at a corner ledge that Iruka calls his spot, where beyond it,  there is a clear and glittering view of the village at night.

Tenzou doesn’t join him on the ledge and instead puts his hands together in a series of seals and creates a comfortable  bench that Iruka thankfully, doesn’t stare at for too long. Tenzou can’t stop the flush exploding on his cheeks when Iruka kisses him on the cheek, sits down, and tells him it's quite beautiful, that Tenzou has very good taste.

“Architecture, furniture design and gardening is a hobby,” Tenzou says, a little sheepishly as he rubs the back of his head and graciously accepts the bento box Iruka had packed their dinner in.

Iruka smiles softly at him then, as he pours two cups of tea from the thermos and places it between them on the bench. Something about that look has Tenzou shifting in his seat, as a million feathersoft wings brushing against the lining of his stomach. “You never cease to surprise me.”

Iruka looks so relaxed, leaning back on bench, a lot more comfortable than he had been on the ledge. Tenzou could put up something with a shade, maybe even have grass and a table, a reclining deck chair too, in case Iruka wants to read a book under a gentle breeze, in the company of yellow chrysanthemum, delphinium, elderflowers, white heathers, sunflowers, oak leaf and heliotropes. White violets and wisteria too.

(Precious, big hearted, compassion, protection, loyalty, strength and devotion, modesty and welcoming — the meanings suit Iruka.)

It’s a nice image, Tenzou thinks, picturing Iruka doing his grading surrounded by green and things that define his character.

Tenzou seriously thinks of making it for him.

“Ahhh, Iruka-sensei, did I take your breath away~?” Tenzou teases, grinning like he’s sure a lot of Iruka’s students would.

“You always do,” Iruka murmurs and this time, Tenzou hopes that in the not so brightly lit rooftop, Iruka won’t notice how his sudden flush goes all the way down past the neckline of his t-shirt.

*

Tenzou thinks it may have been a trick of the light, or maybe his fever really hasn’t left him yet, but he doesn’t think he’s seen Iruka this happy.

They haven’t had sex since their frotting round in the shower days ago and yet, there’s something light about Iruka’s movements, something relaxed and completely unguarded as he makes breakfast, or cleans the apartment, or as he folds laundry and tells him stories about his class, about the play that Tenzou doesn’t even remember paying attention to that night because he had been so busy staring at Iruka.

Iruka tells him about Toshio and how he had gone missing.

“I’m glad he was found, I’m not sure if I could forgive myself if something had happened to him,” Iruka murmurs, as he folds a pillow case. “This is probably a little inappropriate, and I’m not very sure how ANBU operates when they’re not on missions, so don’t take this as me prying. But perhaps if you encounter the ANBU who had found Toshio, you can pass on my sincerest gratitude for that night.”

Tenzou’s eyebrows go up and he watches with amusement at how Iruka turns as red as an apple. “What was the mask?”

“I’m not sure. A cat of some kind? The mask had green and red markings,” Iruka gestures around his eyes corners and temples. It takes all of Tenzou’s training to keep his face neutral when he knows Iruka had suspicions that it might have been him that night. Tenzou didn't forget the obvious flash of recognition That had been all over Iruka’s face. “Honestly, I owe ANBU a great magnitude of thanks not just for Toshio, but all those years with Naruto. They were of great help tracking him down whenever he would run away or vandalize something or the other in the village.”

“Don’t worry, Iruka. I’m sure the team responsible that night was more than glad to be of assistance.” Tenzou grins a little pointedly, a slight lilt in his tone that has Iruka blushing even redder.

“Don’t make fun of me.” Iruka’s nose wrinkles and Tenzou can’t help but slide off the couch, crawling over towards Iruka’s lap and getting into his space, leaning up for a kiss and pausing just centimeters away from Iruka’s frowning mouth.

“Trust me, with the way you looked that night, no one would have been able to resist wanting to help the world’s cutest sensei~” Tenzou sing-songs the title, grinning when Iruka shoves the pillowcase in his hand right at his face.

“You weren’t even there! Stop saying such nonsense!” Iruka insists, looking suspicious and searching and Tenzou doesn’t bother to correct or contradict him. The realization must have dawned, because Iruka’s eyes widens as he scowls, flushing even redder than humanly possible, turning his face away. “W-Why would you show yourself to  someone like me? In such a public place, too! Have you lost your mind? Why would you do that?” Iruka gripes, looking so incredibly cute in his shock, irritation and embarrassment. Tenzou gives in and straddles Iruka’s lap, wrapping his arms around him and squeezing him tightly, humming throatily with unrestrained amusement, nuzzling Iruka and unable to suppress the wide stretch of his grin.

“Because Iruka-sensei should always look cute and happy~ Not worried, distressed or panicking.” Tenzou leans forward and kisses Iruka, who had gone so still in his arms, eyes wide, flush not receding at all. “Like I said, my team and I are glad to be of assistance.”

*

They fuck for _hours_ after that, forgetting all about dinner. Tenzou watches Iruka come three times, watches him pass out exhausted on the bed, curled on his side and pressing up against him, uncaring about his surroundings, trusting Tenzou to keep him warm and comfortable.

Tenzou had debated getting something to eat, or stopping by his apartment for a change of clothes, or at least pick up dinner before Iruka wakes up.

But Tenzou passes out too, tired and lazy and so sated. He must have been so relaxed that he wakes up with a loud and almost unbecomingly throaty _moan_ to Iruka sucking his cock, mouth curved into what would have been a grin if Iruka didn’t have his mouth so fucking full of Tenzou’s hard and already heavy arousal.

Tenzou comes a little too fast, breathless and panting at the ceiling and when Iruka leans over him, licking cum off his lips and hands so lewdly, Tenzou can’t stop another _groan_ from escaping his throat when Iruka says, “Thank you for dinner, but I’m still hungry.”

Tenzou laughs, loud and sudden, head thrown back on the pillows before he flips them over and pins Iruka down on the mattress, sliding down the length of his incredibly beautiful body and running his tongue over the length of Iruka’s hard and dripping, thick cock.

“Don’t be greedy, Iruka-sensei. It’s your turn to feed me.”

The breathless _cry_ of his name, Iruka’s fingers in his hair and his loss of control as he fucks Tenzou’s mouth without mercy, choking Tenzou with his flesh, _forcing_ Tenzou to comply with his desire and need, Tenzou thinks, had to be the best feeling in the world.

*

They end up eating Cup Ramen hours later, when the streets outside is starting to quiet down and the shops begin to close one by one for the night.

Tenzou had stepped into the shower when the door suddenly opens. Iruka joins him in the shower stall, biting his lower lip, looking like he’s trying to make a decision as he steps into the small space, placing a palm gently on the globes of Tenzou’s ass. Iruka leans close, wrapping an arm around Tenzou’s shoulder to grasp him by the chin and forcefully turns Tenzou’s head to look over his shoulder, forces him to meet Iruka’s eyes — Iruka’s eyes are dark, lustblown, almost glazed over, his thirst for Tenzou already at its peak. Tenzou can feel the excitement and arousal thrumming under Iruka's Skin, his cock already half hard.

Tenzou suddenly finds himself robbed of breath. 

“Put your cock in me,” Iruka demands, syllables almost slurred in the heat of his need, as the hand on Tenzou’s ass slides over his hip and down his front, wrapping in a commanding grip around Tenzou’s cock. The heat in Tenzou’s stomach flares, and his breath stills in his throat for a moment as he takes in the _ravenous_ look in Iruka’s eyes, how Iruka has him in a position that leaves him vulnerable and a little too open.

It’s bold.

It’s fucking sexy.

And gods, Iruka is fucking beautiful.

The look in Iruka’s eyes goes straight to his cock, just as Iruka gives his quickly hardening length a slow and teasing wet stroke.

“Beg,” Tenzou counters pulling away from the hold and pressing Iruka up against the tiles, both palms slapping loudly and wetly on either side of Iruka’s head, smirking under the warm spray, watching how the rivulets of water cascades down the planes of Iruka’s chest and chiseled stomach, how gorgeous he is when he is hard and wet and flushed, looking at Tenzou with brazen hunger.

“Make me,” Iruka challenges, chin tipped forward, and so fucking cheeky in his demand.

Tenzou does so love a challenge.

It doesn’t take much to have Iruka making begging noises in his throat, brown eyes wide and completely glazed over, on his knees and eyes tearing up as Tenzou fucks his mouth oh so slowly, grips Iruka tightly by the hair every time Iruka tries to be in control, every time he tries to change to the pace, pulling hard enough that it’d hurt. But Iruka is demanding, Iruka just wouldn’t listen and when his teeth grazes a little too roughly over the head of Tenzou’s cock, Tenzou growls.

Tenzou wraps his fingers around Iruka’s neck with a sudden snap, pushes him backwards roughly, that Iruka hits the wall with a wet thud, a debauched cry reverberating in the space of the small bathroom. Tenzou pulls him up by the neck, pinning him on the wall and kisses that swollen, choking and fucking pertinent mouth, sinking his teeth into Iruka’s lower lip and swallowing his cry.

Iruka comes like that, sudden and shaking, shoulders hunched as Tenzou keeps him up right, sucking the breath out of him, watching as Iruka’s hot cum drips down his cock and disappears down the drain. Iruka doesn’t resist when Tenzou spins him around hard, turning the shower off. Tenzou doesn’t give Iruka much time to recover, pushing Iruka’s chest against the tiles, fingers teasing and fucking him so incredibly slowly, until Iruka is hard again and his ass begins to spasm around two of Tenzou’s fingers. Tenzou doesn’t succumb to Iruka’s need, and pinches the soft skin on Iruka’s inner thigh when Iruka tries to rock his hips. Tenzou presses gentle kisses on the curve of his ear, takes his sweet time adding more marks all over Iruka’s neck and shoulders, ignoring the whimpers and shudders that leaves Iruka’s throat when his fingers brush against the soft bundle of nerves that has Iruka almost sobbing with need, cock dark and heavy with blood.

By the third finger, Iruka is beside himself with need.

“Please — oh gods, _please_ , Tenzou-san — _ahhh —“_ Iruka says, hips arched and legs spread wide, sweat and water on his skin and throat raw and voice raspy.

“Please what?”

“ _Please_ —“

“Not a mind reader, Sensei,” Tenzou grits out, and yanks his fingers out in one vicious pull that leaves Iruka almost buckling against the tiled walls, suddenly empty as his mouth parts and uncontrolled, garbled and breathless sentences starts rolling past his tongue.

“I need your cock in me — please — fuck me — I need to feel your cock — _oh gods—I need you, Tenzou—“_

Tenzou pushes his cock into Iruka  in one full and long thrust, cutting off the begging and choking Iruka into a sudden and breathless silence with his thick flesh.

The begging doesn’t stop, harder, Iruka cries out _._ _Tenzou_ , Iruka begs, oh gods, you feel so good, your cock feels so good, yes, right there, oh gods, _Tenzou — ahhh!_

Tenzou knows he’s being reckless, knows that the neighbors probably can hear Iruka being fucked into the next week, knows that the name Tenzou won’t be so unknown to the neighbors by the end of it all. But Iruka begs and he begs so prettily that Tenzou can’t make himself give a flying _fuck_ as he pounds into Iruka’s body, grinds into the tight and glorious heat, until Iruka is coming with a cry so loud that Tenzou has to clamp a hand over his mouth to muffle it.

Tenzou comes so hard, that darkness clouds his vision for a few seconds, splashed with white stars that he forcibly blinks away, his vision spinning, his world unmoored as he orgasms and holds Iruka tightly in his arms, mouth open wide as he gasps loudly against Iruka’s neck, fingers squeezing over Iruka’s mouth and chin.

And when it’s all over, and they’re standing under the cold spray panting, Tenzou catches a glimpse of Iruka’s smirk, at the reddened fingerprints on Iruka’s cheek and chin, and Tenzou knows he’s been played like a fucking fiddle.

“You sneaky, manipulating, cheeky little—“ Tenzou spins Iruka around so violently, _growling_ when Iruka laughs and laughs into his demanding kiss.

Tenzou is going to have to exact his revenge one day. Teach Iruka a goddamn lesson for playing him like that.

*

They don’t wake up till noon the next day. Iruka makes them both coffee and they drink it under the warm rays pouring through the window, lounging in bed and sipping lazily, until Iruka tells him he needs to step out to get groceries.

“I’ll go with you,” Tenzou says, and sets their empty mugs on the nightstand.

Iruka had gone very still all of a sudden, looking at Tenzou, with something quiet and unsure pressing around the corners of his eyes. “Are you sure you want to be seen with me in public?”

The question is rather odd considering the fact the only thing Iruka doesn’t know about him is his actual codename. But Tenzou can guess where it comes from, understand it to a point. He leans up and kisses Iruka on the cheek, making his decision, squashing down the brief hesitation at the question. It won’t be the first time he’d be seen with Iruka in public. Even though it is broad daylight and they’re not exactly going to a bar or a little hole in the wall izakaya.

Tenzou pats Iruka’s thigh, and pushes himself out of bed. “Come on, let’s get you your groceries. I was wondering if you can you make oyakudon?” Iruka’s smile is soft as he nods. “Ahh, maybe spinach gomaae too?”

Iruka leans up into his space, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and kisses him slowly. “Whatever you want…”

Tenzou flushes a little but succumbs into Iruka’s embrace, inhaling the smell of oranges and cinnamon, kissing the bruises on Iruka’s neck as they gently sway in the glow of the afternoon sun. Tenzou looks out the window, and thinks he really should go back to his apartment, that he really should get a change of clothes, even though Iruka has given him a pair of loose pants to use and had washed his uniform.

Tenzou knows he’ll be sent out on a mission soon, knows his two week medical leave is nearing its end. He looks at Iruka, their foreheads pressed together, watching how his eyelashes curl, at the gold specks swimming in Iruka’s wonderfully warm gaze. Iruka is looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters and there is something about that makes Tenzou’s heart race. Tenzou can’t step away, doesn’t want to break whatever spell there is hanging between them, where the world around them dulls to a quiet hush and the only thing that matters is Iruka, the way he fits in his arms, the way his lips brush ever so tenderly on the side of his jaw and how his fingers caress the soft skin on the back of Tenzou’s neck.

“You’re beautiful…” Tenzou says, the words soft, unable to tear his gaze away even when he tries, even when his mind points out that neither of them have had a proper meal in twenty four hours.

“Believe me, Tenzou-san, you’re the one who’s beautiful…” Iruka whispers and leans up to kiss him slowly.

It’s odd, being called beautiful. It’s even odder that it would make Tenzou flush to the roots of his hair, make him break the kiss and hide his heated face on the curve of Iruka’s neck, suddenly so unsure of what the fuck he should do with himself in the wake of such an earnest compliment.

They don’t leave for the grocery store till much later.

*

Tenzou helps Iruka cook. He likes standing next to Iruka slicing up vegetables as Iruka works the wok and prepares the rice. There’s something about how seamless they both move that Tenzou finds grounding, something about them working in sync that feels so right.

“Did you learn to cook by yourself?” Tenzou asks.

“Ah, no, I used to help my mother in the kitchen often. Mostly because she’d let me handle the knife and for some reason, at the age for four, that sounded really cool when they don’t let us handle real kunais in the Academy until the age of six.” Iruka sounds sheepish, but continue to talk. “She used to make me cute bentos for my birthday and whenever I did well in class - octopus sausages, cat, rabbit and dogs onigiri, star shaped salads. She called it special lunch.” Nostalgia and distant fondness glazes over Iruka’s eyes, and he ducks his head as he adjusts the heat on the stove. “She would sing when she thinks no one is looking. Those are my fondest memories of her. Helping her make dinner and lunch on the weekends was our thing. I don’t cook as well as her, obviously.”

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” Tenzou hands Iruka the board of chopped onion and chicken.

“She was.” Iruka throws Tenzou a small smile, as he takes the board and adds it to the mixture boiling slowly in the pan. “You would have liked her. She loved to garden. I remember how she grew lavender in our backyard. We would always have lunch in the garden during spring, and everything would be so wonderfully purple. She also kept peace lilies and hibiscus by the kitchen window.”

Tenzou hums and presses his lips Iruka’s shoulder. “And your father?”

“I got my love for prose and poetry from him. When he wasn’t away on missions, we would spend the night at the engawa and he would read poems to me.” Iruka smiles softly, a memory probably tugging before his gaze. “He’d read me a book every night, until I fell asleep. And every morning, before I head to the academy, he would remind me to be brave and courageous, to do my best, just like the heroes in those adventure books. He told me to dream big, that I can be anything I want to be, have anything I want in the world, if I work hard for it…”

“I see,” Tenzou murmurs, and carefully listens to the sudden drum of Iruka’s heart, listens to it pick up its pace, how it slams against his ribcage. “And are you?”

“Dreams are for free, Tenzou-san. But they’re just that. Dreams.” Iruka turns to look at him over the shoulder, resignation and almost hopelessness dulling his gaze. “They’re mostly for children who don’t know better, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tenzou doesn’t answer. He didn’t know how to disagree with that statement. It was the harsh reality of their world.

But the look that flickers in Iruka’s eyes, the way his throat bobs when he swallows as he looks away, makes something twist in Tenzou’s stomach.

Iruka should never look like that.

*

“So is it really true that Mokuton is a full body ability? That you can make wood come out of every part of you?”

Iruka’s question come out soft and sudden as they lie in bed with their arms wrapped around each other, Iruka’s cheek pressed on Tenzou’s left shoulder, their skin still cool from their shared shower, a cup of ginger tea steaming on the nightstand. Iruka still insists Tenzou drink the tea before bed, even though Tenzou had pointed out that he’s better, that his cough is gone, that the fever is not coming back. Iruka’s nose had wrinkled and Tenzou had wordlessly - if not helplessly - conceded.

If Tenzou is being honest with himself, he had expected question to come out a lot sooner. He is surprised Iruka didn’t barrage him with questions once the dots had connected days ago.

When he doesn’t answer immediately, Iruka quickly retracts the question, telling him that he doesn’t have to answer if he doesn’t want to; Tenzou huffs a sound of amusement and turns to press his lips to the crown of Iruka’s head.

“Yes, it’s true.”

“ _Everywhere_?” Iruka asks again, suddenly sitting up and looking down at him with a grin on his lips, his fingers cupping Tenzou’s balls in a slow and gentle squeeze.

Tenzou can’t stop the hitch in his throat at that, his cock stirring just the smallest bit. “Iruka…”

“I’m just curious. It’s a wonderful ability, certainly rare.” Iruka releases him and carefully slides between Tenzou’s legs, adjusting himself to comfortably lie on top of him, chin resting just under Tenzou’s chest, mindful of his tender side. “But you do know it’s you I’m interested in, not your kekkei genkai, right?”

“Are you, now?” Tenzou mutters, both eyebrows shooting up to his hairline as he props himself a little higher on the pillow, palms folding under his head. “You sure that’s the only question you have? I can see how you’re itching to ask a hundred. I’m surprised you’ve waited this long.”

Iruka flushes and grins toothily. “I guess since you’re always gone and I have needs, I don’t suppose you can make me a nice, wooden, dildo replica of your cock, can you?”

The exploding _laughter_ that tears itself out of Tenzou’s throat surprises him. It doesn’t last long because it tapers off to a sticky and wet coughing fit, leaving Tenzou with an ache in his back and tears in his eyes at the ludicrous request. But Iruka doesn’t budge from his position and if anything, the grin turns a little sharper, a little wider, a salient gleam now visible in Iruka’s beautiful eyes. “Wow. You’re serious.” Tenzou rasps out, clearing his throat and settling back on the pillows.

“Of course, I am.” Iruka turns his head to one side. “Tenzou-san, you’re the only one who can ever satisfy me and fulfill my every need.”

Tenzou’s chest suddenly stills with a breath he can’t take, as he watches Iruka’s throat bob when he swallows and his eyes slide away, something hesitant in his gaze, his grin dimming to something a little milder, a little quieter. “ _Every_ need, Iruka? That’s a bit of a blanket statement, don’t you think?”

“Shall I elaborate?” Iruka asks, pushing himself up with his palms on either side of Tenzou.  

Tenzou waves a hand in a go ahead gesture. “Please do.”

“Let’s start with the obvious.” Iruka holds a hand up and starts listing his reasons with each finger. “You’re hot as hell, really great in bed, clearly skilled as a shinobi and strong, if I’m going to judge you by rank. And now, I know you have mokuton abilities, which can help fill my lonely nights. I’m quite serious about that dildo.” Iruka holds up five fingers, wiggling them as if to emphasize the number.

“Keep going. I’m a fan of how you’re boosting my ego.” Tenzou grins, wide and toothy, wholly amused at the entire conversation and the way Iruka keeps staring at his face.

“Giver of good blowjobs,” Iruka closes his counting hand into a fist and holds up a new finger, only to drop it, when he hesitates. “Oh wait, that technically should fall under great in bed, right?”

“No, no, it should be a category on its own,” Tenzou grabs Iruka’s finger, pushing it back up.

“I disagree,” Iruka laughs when Tenzou shakes his head and purposely pushes his lower lip outwards. “I work with four year olds, you _know_ that look is not going to work on me.” Tenzou pouts a little harder, chin wrinkling and nose scrunching and it leaves Iruka breathless with laughter. Tenzou knows he’s capable at making silly expressions. He can’t stop the smug look from stretching on his face when Iruka concedes. “Okay, okay, one count for giver of good head. Amazing kisser — no, you know what, I really do think these two should fall under great in bed.” Iruka drops both fingers and Tenzou grabs his hand and starts pushing two up forcefully.

“Those are two very separate things, Iruka. They must be on their own.” But Iruka resists Tenzou’s insistence. “Don’t be stingy with points, sensei, that’s unfair.”

“All right, all right, two points then.” Iruka holds up to fingers and and rolls his eyes when Tenzou grins. “Okay, so, giver of good head, amazing kisser, provider of groceries and not just any kind but the good kind. Fancy, like bluefin tuna, wagyu beef and imported fruits is something I don’t usually indulge in except on special occasions, so my belly and appetite thanks you.”

Tenzou laughs at that, throwing his head back and shaking with it. Iruka laughs with him too, and Tenzou can’t help but lean over and press his lips over Iruka’s forehead, reaching for the cup of tea and taking a slow sip. “You were counting.”

“Oh yes, we’re at eight points.” Iruka moves over Tenzou’s lap when Tenzou tugs him closer. Tenzou doesn’t foresee himself ever getting tired of having Iruka on his lap. “Very good at hugs. I’m a fan. Stamina of course.” Tenzou hums, an eyebrow going up as he takes a slow sip of his tea. “So that’s the first ten.”

“Oh, there’s more.” Tenzou reaches up with his hand then, pressing his palm on the side of Iruka’s neck.

“You’re quiet which took some getting used to, but understand that I am surrounded by children most of the time. And you’d be surprised how little difference there is between the Academy and the mission desk. So I appreciate that.” Iruka’s voice suddenly drops to something to softer, gaze lingering on the rim of Tenzou’s cup. “You’re direct with your intentions, which again, is something I appreciate. While I am big fan of manners, sometimes people forget that communication is key to getting your point across. That staying silent doesn’t really give the other person much to work with in terms of guessing of what they want. So your directness is quite frankly, refreshing. I don’t have to guess with you. I can count on you to tell me what you want or need and you’re not shy about it. Which is a little a sexy, sometimes, I admit.” Iruka flushes all of a sudden, bright and red and Tenzou can’t help but brush fingers over his jawline, watching how that flush spreads down Iruka’s throat. “Oh and you’ve got manners. Which is very nice. I’m a big fan of etiquette.”

“I’m must be doing something right in my life if I’m getting gold stars from Iruka-sensei.” Tenzou smirks, and watches how Iruka clears his throat, the flush spreading over Iruka’s chest, making the red marks Tenzou had leftnon his skin over the course of his stay stand out even brighter.

“You’re very cute in your mannerisms, or how you fanboy over gameshows and daytime soaps. I think you are the only person I know who genuinely likes Hero of Love and Days of our Past.”

“They’re great shows.” Tenzou insists, heat slowly spilling over his cheeks.

“Tenzou-san, their nationwide rating is below thirty percent. That’s pretty bad. I am genuinely surprised that they still manage to churn out new seasons every year!” Iruka laughs, sounding incredulous.

“They’re still great shows.” Tenzou insists again, horribly aware of how they’re the most made fun of shows in television history. It’s addictive in its cheesiness and bad dialogue. “And it’s funny if you don’t take it seriously. Moving on now.”

Iruka chuckles a little bit, getting his laughter under control and clearing his throat once more. “You’re observant and sensitive of others’ needs. Well, my needs, anyway. I’ve never seen you interact with anyone else in public, but you -- ah…” Iruka reaches up and rubs the edge of his scar with a finger. “You know when not push. You know when I’m tired and respect my boundaries, help me when you can which I am so appreciative of. I hope you know that. And you’re loyal,” Iruka ducks his head then, the smile forming and falling from his lips. “And that means a lot to me.”

There’s something a little defenseless in that admission, something a little too wide open. Tenzou takes one last sip from his cup and sets it aside.

“You’re smart, great company, you have a wonderful smile and laugh, and I’m just a lot happier when I’m with you.” Iruka says and suddenly, there’s a startled look on his face, like he had said something he hadn’t meant to say.

Tenzou blinks in the wake of it, caught off guard by the statement, going very still. Tenzou finds that his pulse starts to race, his heart slamming against his ribcage and when he slowly grasps Iruka by the chin, tilting his face up so he can meet his eyes, there’s a look of resignation on Iruka’s face. It’s a look Tenzou hasn’t seen in a long time, how it changes Iruka’s entire face. It reminds Tenzou of how Iruka had looked like the first time he laid eyes on him at the Silver Swan, when something dark and heavy had weighed him down, when his frame had been narrower and there had been a visible ache in his eyes that with time, Tenzou realises, has actually vanished.

“Is that so?” Tenzou murmurs, soft and feeling a little touched that he can bring some happiness into Iruka’s life, no matter how fleeting or how small. To be able to do good for the sake of someone else, one that isn’t bound to duty or obligation or even understanding, brings a certain kind of pleasure that Tenzou hasn’t felt before. It’s soft, like summer white dandelions brushing over his skin.

It’s a nice feeling.

“Yes,” Iruka flushes, as his voice drops and he reaches forward to press his palms on Tenzou’s neck, thumb grazing over line of his jaw.  “So, Tenzou-san, please take good care of me~”

Tenzou isn’t one to make promises he can’t keep. But if he can continue to bring what little joy he can in Iruka’s life, if he can continue to take care of him in what small ways he can, he thinks he can sleep a little better. He presses his hands over Iruka’s palms, pulling one of them and pressing his lips over Iruka’s wrist.

(There's something fulfilling about the thought of taking care of Iruka.)

“I’ll try…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently, Tenzou gets shy when he's really into someone. Apparently.
> 
> Hopeless.
> 
> I've been getting a bunch of anons and PMs with regards to you folks liking the pairing. I am so, so happy that people are liking this pairing and seeing their potential. They are so pure and so wholesome. Thank you everyone for giving this pairing a chance. 
> 
> IF YOU WANNA CHITCHAT OVER HOW CUTE THEY ARE COME POKE AWAY AT TUMBLR @ Pinkcatharsis or gchat/email shishichan@gmail.com or discord chat pandashi#7565!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [Sub_textual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual). Including all of Kakashi's dialogues/action.

On the sixteenth day of Tenzou’s enforced medical leave, the call of the summoning hawk comes before dawn.

It is still dark outside, without a whisper of sound from the usually busy street of Iruka’s block. Tenzou’s quiet, surprisingly regretful soft sigh breaks the silence as he tightens his hold around Iruka’s body, pressing his nose into Iruka’s hair, lips settled over Iruka’s nape. Iruka remains blissfully asleep, doesn’t even shift in Tenzou’s arms as Tenzou carefully pulls away from warmth he doesn’t want to leave behind. He watches with something unguardedly fond and tender curling in his chest, like smoke from a cozy fire, as Iruka rolls over to the opposite side in Tenzou’s direction, refusing to peel himself away from Tenzou’s warmth even in his sleep, soft fingers curling over scarred skin of Tenzou’s hip before Iruka settles and continues to sleep, a small throaty noise of complaint tapering off to quiet breaths.  

Tenzou can’t recall a time when he wishes, with every fiber of his being, that he could just stay and just not answer the Hokage’s summon at all, pretend to be deaf, stay in bed and gather that wonderful, beautiful body in his arms and let the world burn.

Tenzou can’t recall a time when he has hesitated when summoned. When he has regretted being summoned.

Regret isn’t a foreign concept to Tenzou, but it is never a pleasant feeling. He’s felt regret in failing his missions, regret in not being able to save a comrade, regret in carrying the weight of the dead home, or having to make a decision to leave the dead behind. He’s felt it when he looks at a teammate with helplessness, when he sees the shadows of a past in mismatched eyes, tension coiling in his spine, the weight of loss pulling broad, pale shoulders down and keeping it there. Regret and helplessness goes hand in hand, Tenzou had discovered a long time ago.  Regret tastes sharp, like the copper tang of blood. It cuts like a thousand needles sliding down Tenzou’s throat, cutting all the way down. That kind of regret cuts from within, feels as sore as a flesh wound. The pain would persist like a bad burn as it heals and scabs, and eventually, the pain dulls to something numb and nothing more than a scar.

Up until that moment, as he reaches down to brush incredibly smooth, silky hair off Iruka’s serene sleeping face, Tenzou didn’t know that regret could feel like a deep seated ache in one’s bones. The kind that lingers like an onset of a horrible fever, a slow and steady burn that paves the way to a need that Tenzou knows he can never hope to quench. He didn’t know regret could hurt more, that it didn’t have to be brought on by loss and death and the bloodied remains of a comrade, however broken or whole, left on a battlefield. Regret is leaving behind this quiet moment, this comfort and the very embodiment of all things good and worth fighting for. This kind of regret makes the weight of the sword on his back and blood-stained armor heavier, more constraining.

Tenzou didn’t think a day would come when he would hesitate, when his ten minute response window would be wasted on wrapping his arms around a breathing body and pressing lips to Iruka’s temple, the kiss long and warm, as he closes his eyes in the quiet of the still darkness outside and feeling the steady thrum of Iruka’s heartbeat under his fingers.

There’s never been a time when he had wanted to disobey a summon outright, when something under his ribs claws like a savage beast and tells him to fuck it, fuck it all.

This attachment, Tenzou knows,  with everything in him up in arms and screaming in alarm, is dangerous.

He should go, like the many times he had left Iruka tucked into the cocoon of his bed.

He should leave quietly, not look back.

(He shouldn’t actually come back – not with how attached he is now.)

But like the countless times in the week he had spent with Iruka, Tenzou gives into his whims, trails an open mouthed kiss to Iruka’s ear and whispers, “I have to go…”

Iruka stirs with a soft, throaty noise, an eye cracking open as he rolls onto to his back to look up at Tenzou’s face, blinking awake and bringing a fist up to rub the sleep weighing his eyelids down. Something about that gesture makes everything in Tenzou soften, fills him to the brim with affection. Tenzou aches with all the regret his body is capable of holding, feels it like an injury under his skin as he swallows past the sudden dryness in his throat and his fist involuntarily tightens on the sheets. He wishes he didn’t have to go. Wishes he had the luxury to hold onto this moment just a little longer.

“Summoned?” Iruka croaks, voice raspy as he slowly sits up from the bed, stifling a yawn behind a fist.

“I have seven minutes…” Tenzou looks over at the clock and gets out of bed when Iruka sleepily pushes him off to get ready.

“Get dressed then. You don’t want to be late.” Iruka gets up too, sheets sliding off his bare body as he stretches in the dim moonlight, joints popping. It takes everything in Tenzou to tear his gaze away and step back from him to pick up his folded uniform. It takes everything in him to not cross the distance between them and gather Iruka in his arms, too.

Tenzou dresses in seconds, quick and easy and when he tucks the singlet into his pants, and secures his belt, he crosses the few steps towards the genkan where he tugs his clean boots on. When he straightens, Iruka is there and stepping into his space to adjust the neckline of his singlet and carefully tugs it up to Tenzou’s chin. Iruka’s fingers are lingering, gentle, his thumbs pressing over the edge of the fabric, smoothing it over his chin.

“Come back safe,” Iruka whispers, worry dampening the sleepy and soft expression, a palm cupping Tenzou’s face as his other hand moves to back of Tenzou’s neck. “Fight strong.”

Something implausibly warm explodes in Tenzou’s chest then, filling him to the brim when he didn’t think his body was capable of holding anything more with a feeling he didn’t even think was possible. Tenzou always had a strong will, had always given his best when it came to his assigned missions. It’s isn’t quite a pep talk that he remembers receiving from Kakashi when he had been his team leader, nor is it like words of encouragement Danzou had given him when he had been training to refine his mokuton abilities. It most certainly is nothing like the send-off the Sandaime or even the Godaime had given him and his team when they were tasked with something risky that may mean their imminent death.

And yet, something about Iruka’s words fills his veins with strength he didn’t even know he had, makes Tenzou’s will increase tenfold, as large and fervent as a blazing forest fire burning towards the sky, cutting through the dark. It floods Tenzou’s skin with warmth, dusting crimson over his cheeks as his lips pull back with something uncharacteristically unrestrained, a smile and a grin meshed into something dangerously determined.

Fight strong, Iruka says and these words, the depth of the honest sentiment behind it whispered in the dark, are Tenzou’s and Tenzou’s alone.

Tenzou steps closer, pulling Iruka into his arms, smothering the grin against Iruka’s neck and inhaling deeply, taking in as much as he can of that sweet, heady scent into his lungs with deep and heavy grounding breaths, just as those words sink to the deepest and softest parts of him. Words that aren’t a command, aren’t part of a mission, but something sincere and filled with hope, a request and a wish from someone so beautiful and precious, who wants him to come back safe.

“I’ll see you when I get back,” Tenzou murmurs, and presses his lips to Iruka’s neck in a soft kiss, just as Iruka’s arms tightens around him.

Tenzou would fight with his life if it meant coming home to this, coming back into Iruka’s arms to hear those words again and again.

*

Tenzou arrives for his briefing twenty seconds before the ten minute mark to find one of the members of his team already present. There is a brief pause as Stag turns to look at him before the Godaime clears her throat and begins to brief them on assignment that makes Tenzou’s heart sink to the ground.

They are to infiltrate a high security prison in Iron Country and extract information from former traitors of Sound and Sand who, according to intel, had possible ties to Akatsuki. Tenzou knows of the prison, knows how it’s located several levels underground, surrounded by a body of water. He knows that inmates of that prison would have their chakra sealed and that their window of opportunity to break out without drawing attention would be very slim. They have eight weeks to confirm whether the intel is true, and if it is, they’re on a tight schedule to gather as much information as they can. On the ninth week, they will be presented before a council to receive their final sentence. That is their only opportunity to break out.

Cat and Stag are going play the roles as convicted criminals, their covers already set up. Raccoon and Sparrow are to act as support and back up nearby, and to assist them in their breakout on the ninth week. With how alarming Akatsuki’s recent movements have been, apparently, the Godaime is willing to gamble one of her best teams to investigate an alleged rumor. The intel had to be good and Tenzou had a few guesses on who it may have come from. He says nothing as Tsunade gives her spiel about the risk factors involved with such a mission, that while the information may be strong enough to warrant a second look, there’s still a high chance that they’ll get nothing out of it.

Out of all the possible places to spy in, prisons are on the top of Tenzou’s list of most hated. They’re too wild in their organization, unpredictable, and leaves you vulnerable in many uncomfortable ways once your chakra is sealed.

Tenzou tries not to sigh as he accepts the scroll and bows his head in acceptance. He returns with his team to the ANBU headquarters to prepare for their travel. He’s at least glad that he had his own team to work with and not someone else from another unit. He’s at least used to working with a Hyuuga, a Yamanaka, and a Namiashi. They agree to meet at the gates in an hour. Tenzou leaves them to visit a medical team to alter his appearance, to cover up the red mark on his shoulder, and to stimulate the growth of his hair until it falls to his waist the way it did when he had been far too small. It makes him look softer, younger, a lot more delicate and disarming, despite his strong build.

By sunrise, Tenzou is looking over his shoulder at the gates he’s leaving behind.

He doesn’t even get past Konoha’s borders when he already starts to feel incredibly homesick.

*

The days in a sealed prison are long.

The nights, are even longer. Colder. Quieter.

It takes two weeks for him to conclude that the intel was a dud.

It takes another week to confirm that they had come all this way to investigate a false rumor.

This is the exact reason why Tenzou hates prison-related assignments. Sometimes the information takes too long to extract. Sometimes it is far too easy. The worst part in both scenarios is the waiting game while trying not to crack under the dirty politics of prison.

Fight strong, Iruka whispers in his ear at night, and Tenzou can only breathe through the ache of the bruises on his face and body, as he pictures Iruka’s smile behind his closed eyelids and imagines the warmth of Iruka’s body pressing close to his.

It’s probably the only reason he still manages to get up the next day, and makes the annoying wait for five more weeks to pass just a little more bearable.

*

Worrying, Iruka knows, doesn’t empty tomorrow of anything, doesn’t make the waiting any shorter. Worrying, Iruka knows well, only robs tomorrow of its strength.

It is on the fourteenth day, as Iruka writes the day’s date on his blackboard that the chalk snaps cleanly in half, just as he turns to look at the Academy playground beyond his classroom window, at the sea of green treetops just beyond Konoha’s red and orange skyline. Iruka isn’t naïve enough to think that something may have gone wrong just because Tenzou’s mission this time takes longer than the usual seven to ten days. Iruka knows that ANBU undergoes all kinds of missions, that some may even take months to complete. He shouldn’t be surprised if Tenzou doesn’t come knocking on his door in a week, or two or six. He shouldn’t even be thinking about it.

It isn’t exactly his place to know.

Still, as he bends down to pick up the broken piece of chalk, the worry wraps around him like binding restraints. It tightens with each passing day.

It isn’t till the nineteenth day, just shy of a week before his birthday, in the middle of his class that he feels the presence lingering by the door. He turns when the door opens, as the worry escalates to new levels when an ANBU steps into his class silently and the children do not look up from where they are taking out their workbooks and sharpening their pencils. The chatter amongst his youngest class doesn’t cease, and Iruka knows then that they won’t be able to see the cloaked presence standing right there in the middle of his classroom, unmoving like a statue.

“Godaime-sama requires your presence,” the ANBU says, voice soft and feminine.

Iruka doesn’t answer verbally, but gives a confirming nod. When he turns to address his class to settle down, the presence vanishes like it was never there at all. Iruka hurries to the next class, and asks Makoto-sensei to cover for him and leaves immediately for the tower.

Iruka knocks and announces his presence, cutting off midway when he catches sight of Kakashi standing off to the side. Iruka is caught off guard by his presence and excuses himself for the blunder and his own obvious surprise, cheeks dusting a mild red as he dips his head politely in greeting in Kakashi’s direction, before apologizing for interrupting.

Tsunade waves a hand dismissively, asking him to shut the door before she speaks. “This came in this morning and is the reason why I’ve called you both here. Iruka, this is for you.” Tsunade holds out a folded note that is a little crumpled around the edges. Iruka accepts it with both hands and knows, from the looks of it, that it’s been read through already. “Understand that this cannot leave this room for safety reasons.”

“Yes, Hokage-sama,” Iruka says, and casts a wary look at Kakashi, who is also holding a similar looking note and regarding him with an unreadable, if not focused, expression. It’s a little intimidating, and Iruka tries not to fidget under that stare. Tsunade gives him a nod and Iruka quickly unfolds the paper. And then, his heart soars with a kind of joy he didn’t think he’d be capable of feeling at all.

Familiar and messy, if not slightly crooked writing, leaps out from the page. Iruka would recognise that handwriting anywhere. Naruto’s words are loud and big, talking of his training and how difficult it is, how adults can be weird sometimes, that Jiraiya is equally as weird, but a really good and swell guy, and most of all, how none of the places he’s been to has decent ramen, _and I can’t say where I am because Ero-Sennin says I can’t say where I am, y’know?_ There are spelling issues all over the letter, and as Iruka reaches the bottom of the page, he sees how Naruto had scribbled in red ink, how he underlined his birthday wishes repeatedly: _I had to convince the old man to let me send this early, so I hope you get it before your birthday and not after it. Happy Birthday, Iruka-sensei! We’ll celebrate when I get back! You owe me four hundred bowls of ramen!_

There’s a big grinning smiley face at the bottom of the page beside Naruto’s name and it takes all of Iruka’s power to not move a muscle as he stares down at the characters starting to blur before his eyes, overcome by a swell of emotion. Iruka closes his eyes for a long moment, gathering himself as he sucks in one slow breath after another, unable to care as the weight of Tsunade’s and Kakashi’s eyes bore into him with a focus that makes the red on his cheeks deepen.

It takes a soft exhale and a few blinks as he rereads the letter once more, memorizes it and carefully refolds the note, before stepping forward to hand it back to Tsunade with both his hands and a low bow.

“Thank you, Hokage-sama,” Iruka says, his voice traitorously thick. “I am grateful.” Tsunade says nothing but the smile on her face, when Iruka looks up and meets her gaze, speaks volumes. Iruka watches as she sets the two letters on fire with a flare of chakra, the ashes falling into the trash bin beside her desk.

“You’re both dismissed. It goes without saying that your discretion is important.” Tsunade warns once more, before her lips splits to a wide and toothy grin. “See you at Tasuichi!”

Iruka drops to a low bow once more to immediately hide his comically shocked face, just as the rest of him alights with a fiery embarrassment that refuses to go away. He manages to stammer out a pathetic response before he leaves the room with Kakashi trailing after him. Half of his heart hammers in his chest with overwhelming affection and love over the fact that Naruto remembers him, that Naruto had made the effort to send him wishes, no matter how risky or how small it may be. Iruka had not expected it, not even in his wildest dreams, because Naruto’s safety supersedes everything else. And while Iruka knows that Jiraiya is most certainly not a pushover in terms of skill, he didn’t think Jiraiya would risk it. Naruto must have been persistent.

Iruka has learned to keep his expectations extremely low. He had not expected to be remembered at all. Not when Naruto is so busy pursuing his dreams and being trained by high caliber shinobi.

(He’s no legendary Sannin like Jiraiya, and he’s not famously cool with a dangerous reputation like Hatake Kakashi.)

The other half of his heart shrivels with sheer embarrassment that whatever celebratory garbage his friends had managed to cook up and spread around, after cornering him and convincing him to expand on the party invitation this year, had apparently reached the Hokage. Iruka knows how fast words can spread. He also knows how everyone and anyone is always looking for an excuse to throw a party. He just didn’t expect it to reach Tsunade, of _all_ people. Iruka had only agreed to it so that they’d stop pestering him about it at the mission room and the Academy.

Now, Iruka is wondering what the fuck he agreed to.

Try as he might to contain his joy and embarrassment, Iruka knows that his dimples are probably showing, and he’s about as open as a book to anyone who might see him. He wants to simultaneously soar in the sky like a cheerful little colorful balloon and sink to the pits of the earth with embarrassment and die there all at the same time.

And then there’s Kakashi.

Well, it would be rude to not invite him _now_.

Iruka is going to beat the living shit out of Izumo and Kotetsu later for putting him in this horrid position.

“Ah, Kakashi-san, if you happen to be around this Friday night at eight, there’s a birthday gathering at Tasuichi. Nothing fancy, just some drinks and a little food, probably cake.” Iruka flushes and resists the urge to tug at the collar of his shirt, as Kakashi keeps on looking at him wordlessly, gaze remaining unreadable. “Well, maybe not a few of us considering it has reached the Hokage…” Iruka mutters and then sheepishly rubs the back of his head.

Kakashi looks at him with an eyebrow slightly quirked just under the edge of his forehead protector, and though Iruka can’t see under the mask, he certainly can read the mild surprise in Kakashi’s expression. Clearly, he hadn’t exactly expected an invitation to a party. Certainly, not from Iruka.

“Whose birthday is it?” Kakashi asks, shoulders slouched, hands tucked in his pockets.

“Mine…” Iruka mutters and burns hotter than the sun at the silence that suddenly falls between them.

“Ah,” Kakashi says with a slow blink. And then he adds, in a rather droll deadpan, “Happy birthday.” Somehow, it only serves to make Iruka’s embarrassment increase a hundred fold.

“Thank you,” Iruka says, nose wrinkling as he resists the urge to just stomp off and give Izumo and Kotetsu a piece of his mind. When he had agreed to keep the invitation open, he had assumed twenty people at most would be invited. He didn’t think it’d reach the Hokage, or that he’d be standing there, awkwardly trying to be polite and invite someone he doesn’t know that well. “I should get back to class. Perhaps, I’ll see you soon, Kakashi-san.”

Kakashi makes a noncommittal sound and Iruka takes that as an opportunity to beat a hasty retreat, throwing polite pleasantries Kakashi’s way, and doesn’t look back.

*

It won’t be so big, Izumo assured him when Iruka had shaken him like a rag doll.

Not a lot of people will turn up, Kotetsu also assured him, too. Iruka had smacked him on the head with a rolled newspaper for that.

Iruka isn’t sure what part of the crowded chaos going on around him that Friday night fits the not-so-big and not-a-lot-of-people assurances Izumo and Kotetsu had guaranteed him up until the last minute.

Tasuichi is filled to the brim, walls bouncing with loud conversations and cheers, as drinking game after drinking game is played and plates of fried food are passed around. There are _three_ birthday cakes, along with a mountain of birthday presents on a table, and somewhere in the karaoke corner, there’s a fight happening over the machine. The chaos is peppered by the toppling of chairs and glass breaking every now and then, sometimes punctuated by a high-pitched shriek, and sometimes a loud shout of defeat, both a result of the card games happening somewhere beside the bar. It had been okay during the first hour, when most of the attendees had been Iruka’s work colleagues and a few he used to go on missions with years ago when he had been more field active.

By the second hour however, people Iruka only recognised by face from the mission room had started to show up. And every single one of them had bought him colourful drinks in glasses of all shapes and sizes, all of them so deliciously and disarmingly sweet, that by ten o’clock, Iruka was nursing one hell of an explosive headache and no longer able to form coherent sentences or a coherent thought. Iruka’s lost count of how many drinks he’s had. With how everyone keeps handing him things and how he’s being whisked from one conversation to another, it’s a miracle he hasn’t thrown up yet.

It isn’t a bad turn out and certainly not a bad crowd either. Tsunade had shown up with a bang and thrown herself into a drinking game, gambling big money and sorely losing.

It only starts to get overwhelming when Genma and Anko begin introducing him to their friends in poorly veiled attempts at matchmaking. It would have probably resulted in something a lot more civil if Iruka had been interested and if none of them had been tipsy and bordering on drunk.

Iruka decides to step out when he pushes away the third person who tries to proposition him very inappropriately, by petting his ass like it was some sort of lounging house cat. He finds a quiet corner in an alley outside, and slumps uncaringly to the ground, leaning heavily against the wall, and empties an entire bottle of water in one go. He has no idea where his friends are, and sitting there, in the slightly breezier alley, listening to the muffled cheers beyond the concrete walls, Iruka can’t make himself care.

His stomach turns, cake, fried food, water, and alcohol mixing so dangerously that it takes all of his willpower to remain very still and not just gag everything out. In the back of his mind, Iruka is aware of what a pathetic sight he must make — dressed in dark pants and a very rumpled t-shirt, sitting by himself in a darkened alley, hair hanging over his face in a haphazard mess, and staring dazedly at the glow of the moon in the sky. Iruka feels exactly like he looks, isolated and alone, despite the roaring crowd in the bar celebrating his birthday and having a good time.

Iruka would have been more than content with a nice, quiet dinner, something small and a little more private and intimate. He would have loved nothing more than to share a bowl of ramen with Naruto, listening to his stories and maybe sharing a cake with him too.

Iruka sighs heavily, dropping his head over his knees and pressing his hands against the back of his head. The headache continues to pound, refusing to recede, and a part of him regrets drinking the colors of the rainbow. “Must be a terrible party if you’re out here.”

The familiar drawl makes Iruka look up at the flat look Kakashi is giving him, standing there under the streetlight, hands in his pockets, regarding Iruka with a gaze that’s a little unimpressed, and a touch amused.

Kakashi casts a weary look at the bar window before turning his gaze back to Iruka.

Iruka blinks slowly, trying to stop the slow spin of his world as he shakes his head. “Kakashi-san, you made it. How nice. Thank you for coming. Please be quiet at once and pretend I’m not here. They’re trying to set me up with people who aren’t my type.”

“Ah, is that so?”

Kakashi’s voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard. Kakashi’s figure also begins to tilt dangerously to one side and Iruka closes his eyes with a soft groan and drops his head back to his knees. “The cake is great. I got three this year! People are so nice! The craft beer is also really nice! Would you like me to go get you a glass?” Iruka looks up and flashes Kakashi a big grin. “Or a cocktail? The yellow one is delicious!”

There’s a long pause as Kakashi regards him silently, before he audibly sighs and his visible eye droops just a little bit in defeat, the amusement that had faintly lingered there easing out to something that seems a little more concerned. “How much have you had to drink, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka thinks for a moment, tilting his head to one side. He remembers having two glasses of beer, and doing a shot after, with the Academy teachers. Iruka stares at three fingers as his brain tries to count the amount of cocktails he had consumed. “Well, people were buying me drinks as a present and I couldn’t say no, because that’s just rude. I may have had a few of the yellow ones. Oh, and the blue ones, and the orange ones too! They’re delicious and taste like fruity popsicles! And I love popsicles! Do you like popsicles?”

Kakashi huffs a breath that’s unquestionably amused. Iruka stares at him for a long time, waiting for a response that doesn’t quite form, before Kakashi sighs and finally says, “Maybe you should go home, hmm? Seems like you might have had a little too much to drink.”

Iruka laughs and flaps a hand at Kakashi, carefully pushing himself up against the wall and back on his feet. The world tips dangerously to one side for a moment and Iruka’s laughs taper off to a slow groan as he gathers his bearings. As calmly as he can, he waves a hand at Kakashi again. “I’m fine. And since you came all the way over here tonight, let me at least get you a drink or a plate of food or something. Naruto would have my head if he knew that I didn’t treat you right. Come on. I’ll brave the crowd and their groping hands just for you, Kakashi-san!”

Iruka hears Kakashi say something, hears the resistance in his tone, but the words don’t exactly register because the world suddenly spins when Iruka takes one step and suddenly, he’s turning to face the wall and emptying the contents of his stomach. There is something to be said about the shame and horror in looking like a complete helpless fool in front of your superiors. Iruka thinks that throwing up fluids that look as vile as acid in front of Kakashi is about as bad as throwing up on the Hokage’s face. A part of Iruka is already regretting this party, is already regretting agreeing to something a little too big for someone like him.

He would have honestly preferred to spend his birthday kissing and having his arms around Tenzou. He wouldn’t have minded spending his birthday sharing a cup of pudding between them, maybe have a nice home cooked dinner and watch a movie. Tenzou would probably never show up to a party of this scale since he had a reputation and identity to guard. They probably would have to pretend they didn’t know each other, like they haven’t been lovers for the past several months.

Something about that, the idea that they can only be themselves within the safety of the walls of Iruka’s apartment, sends a sharp pang of hurt right up his chest.

(Just because you want something so bad, doesn’t mean you get to have it, after all.)

Iruka closes his eyes and sighs heavily, sucking in mouthfuls of air and shaking his clearer head, feeling a whole lot better, having emptied his stomach. It’s only then that he realizes that there’s a gloved hand in his hair, holding it off his face. Iruka coughs and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before his hair tumbles back down on his shoulders.

This has to be the most embarrassing night of Iruka’s fucking life.

“Kakashi-san,” Iruka croaks, “please leave so I can pretend that I didn’t just make a fool out of myself in front of you. Like go away, somewhere over there!” Iruka points at a direction away from his alley and presses his head against the wall, his throat burning.

“Hmm, I suppose I could do that, but then Naruto would never forgive me.” Kakashi says far too lightly. “After all, you are his precious sensei.”

Iruka looks up at him then with confusion. That statement made no sense whatsoever. “Don’t worry. What Naruto doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Go away and just let me die in peace.”

“Ah, Naruto _really_ wouldn’t forgive me if I let his precious person die,” Kakashi muses, and then Iruka finds himself turned and propped up against the wall. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”

“I can’t ditch my own party!” Iruka protests. “A lot of very nice people got me presents and put this together for me, you know? I’ll only leave if I can be promised a night of adventure in bed~ Are you going to show me a night of adventure in bed~?”

Kakashi rolls his uncovered eye with vague exasperation. “The only adventure I’m going to show you is the one that involves you going home and getting in bed. Alone.”

Iruka finds his arm being looped around a broad, warm shoulder, his head lolling heavily on to said shoulder as Kakashi’s arm wraps solidly around his waist to support him.

Iruka blinks as he frowns, trying to digest that sentence. “But I’ve been alone for almost three weeks! It terrible!”

The slur of protests continues to spill from Iruka’s mouth, even though he’s practically hanging off Kakashi for balance. He continues to spew out garbled sentences, talking about the cake, asking who is going to bring all his presents home, how they would probably want to sing another birthday song and that he had promised Anko a round at the karaoke machine — Anko takes her karaoke very seriously. His words only lurch to a stop as Iruka’s knees give out when he feels the air displace around them and suddenly he’s staring at his doormat and hanging off Kakashi’s solid frame, face in chest and his head spinning very dangerously.

Iruka isn’t even sure how he made it from the front door to his bed, isn’t even sure if he was carried or dragged across the small space of his apartment. But Iruka slumps and stares at the ground, defeated and so very tired when Kakashi hands him a glass of water; he drinks it wordlessly as Kakashi commands and then just sits there feeling even more alone than he had been in that alley.

“I didn’t really want the party,” Iruka admits softly, staring at the glass in his hands. “I would have been happier to just have ramen with Naruto, you know? I miss him. I’m just happy he remembers me.” Iruka looks up at Kakashi then, and blinks away the sudden swell of emotion gathering at the corners of his eyes as he recalls the words from the letter he wished the Hokage didn’t have to burn. “You know, kids tend to forget about their boring, strict, nagging teacher when they have someone a lot cooler to learn from. Naruto is lucky to have had you and Jiraiya-sama. He’s such a nice boy, isn’t he? He’s going to be a great Hokage one day.”

Kakashi remains silent for a long while and Iruka looks away, staring at the glass in his hands once more before warm, gloved fingers brush over his as the glass is taken away. “Naruto hasn’t forgotten about you. You’re precious to him. He is who he is because of you.”

“I didn’t do much. You know that, Kakashi-san. My own shortcomings and unfairness towards him.” Iruka swallows and brings his hands up to scrub down his face before he pulls damp t-shirt off, tossing it to the ground and slumping heavily on his pillow. “I wanted to adopt him. My biggest regret is that I couldn’t…”

Iruka stares at the potted daisy on his nightstand and swallows thickly as he listens to Kakashi say something he can’t quite hear. He watches the crimson petals sway a little when Kakashi’s gloved hand sets down another tall glass of water by the pot.

(Tenzou’s been gone three weeks.)

Iruka wishes, as his eyes slide shut, with every bit of him, that the presence in his apartment belonged to someone else.

*

Iruka wakes up with a start to an obnoxiously loud series of knocks on his door late in the afternoon. The knocking resonates in his head, makes the headache _throb_ as he shouts grouchily that he’s coming. He gets a stubbed toe around the corner of his shelf for his efforts, curses foully the entire way up to the genkan and when he throws the door open, he glares at Kotetsu and Izumo’s sheepish faces, the both of them holding several bags of presents and two very crumpled cake boxes.

Iruka has never wanted to slam his door shut in their faces more than he did at that moment.

“You forgot your presents.” Izumo holds up four bags.

“And your cakes!” Kotetsu chimes, grins.

Iruka wanted to point out that there’s a cake missing but sighs heavily instead and leaves them at the door, turning around to shove himself under the shower in the hopes that he’d feel better once he cleans up and changes.

He doesn’t.

It takes an hour, a few painkillers, and two cups of coffee for him to feel a little better, more clear headed. Iruka throws caution to the wind then and starts to eat birthday cake right out of the dilapidated box and waves at his friends to start opening the mountain of presents they had carefully arranged on the coffee table.

Iruka ends up with a lot of gift cards, several mugs, a few trinkets and t-shirts and a few tubes of lube from Anko, Genma, and people he’s generally slept with at least once. He had laughed at that and laughed even more when Kotetsu connected the dots and looked like a puffer fish out of water.

“So you disappeared last night,” Izumo points out.

“Yes, I wasn’t feeling too good after who knows how many cocktails,” Iruka mutters, remembering leaving the party for some air and really not much after that.

“Oh, so you went home alone, then?” Izumo crumples a few of the wrapping papers and begins to stuff them into a bag, and that makes Iruka pause in thought.

He finds that he isn’t quite sure.

“Izumo, you _know_ he went home with his super-secret jounin lover,” Kotetsu corrects.

Iruka rolls his eyes. He’s had this conversation only about a thousand times with these two, who seems convinced that he’s seeing someone secretly and not sharing. Iruka had given up trying to convince them otherwise, and leaves them be to their guessing game. Iruka doesn’t even want to know where the jounin aspect of it had come from. The conversation goes on and on until Iruka gets tired of the same spiel and waves a dismissing hand.

“For the hundredth time, I do not have a super-secret jounin lover,” Iruka admonishes only to throws his hands up in the air when his two friends refuse to believe him.

*

Iruka knows he should be concerned with the fact that he can’t really remember how he had gotten home that night. He knows he should at least think about it more, when the only thing he can remember is that it had definitely been a man in uniform and someone definitely bigger in build. Iruka can’t put a face to the body he remembers all but hanging off of, and doesn’t bother wasting energy trying to figure out who it had been either.

He had nearly forgotten about it entirely, until one afternoon, right after the maddening rush at the mission room, exactly three days after his birthday party, when Genma sidles up next to him in the break room, right as Iruka lifts his cup of tea to take a sip.

“So~ I hear you went home with Kakashi. He’s _good_ , huh?” Genma grins.

Iruka spews out hot tea from his mouth and nose in one horrid and vicious spray of shock, one hand coming up to clamp over his mouth and the bridge of his nose because he had inhaled, choked, and swallowed all the same time. He coughs sharply and abruptly, sloshing tea all over the counter as he sets his cup down and grabs several paper towels, tears welling in his eyes as he quickly wipes down the mess he’s made.

“Genma-san!” Iruka snaps, turning to look at him as tosses the sodden paper towels into the trash bin and proceeds to lose his mind. “How dare you throw such accusations? Where is your shame! Slandering a fellow shinobi’s reputation.”

“I’d almost buy that lecture if I didn’t know you personally,” Genma clicks his tongue, grin spreading wider, a lilt in his tone.

“I did not sleep with Hatake Kakashi,” Iruka hisses, adamant and very sure of himself.

Genma however, isn’t convinced. “You sure? Not even a…” Genma presses his tongue to his cheek and gestures with his fist and all the color drains from Iruka’s face.

Suddenly Iruka is not sure anymore.

Iruka knows himself well, knows that he can get a little handsy when drunk or tipsy, knows that he can convince people that he’s sober, just to get a good roll in the sack. He is well aware of his likes and dislikes, well aware of his ability to spill lurid filth from his mouth and somehow, the idea that he may have even prepositioned Kakashi in _any_ way at all, that he may have touched him, or worse, begged him on his knees, somehow sends all the alarms in his head ringing like the entire administration building is on fire.

Iruka suddenly remembers Tenzou referring to Kakashi as Kakashi-senpai. His heart doesn’t just drop to the ground. It plummets to the core of the earth.

His expression must have said it all because Genma pats him on the back sympathetically. “Well, everyone knows. If you didn’t, you might wanna sort that out, hmm?”

Iruka can only nod dazedly as he heads back to the mission desk and tries to figure out how the hell is even going to address this horrid mess.

*

If there is one thing that Iruka knows, its people. Which is why, halfway during the course of the work week, Iruka shuts down every single jibe and joke about him and Sharingan Kakashi and admonishes anyone who dares speak of such a thing in his presence. Iruka isn’t sure how he had pulled it off when he himself isn’t convinced of his own words, that he didn’t sleep with Hatake Kakashi, that Hatake Kakashi is an honorable man who wouldn’t turn his back on a comrade and that if anything, he had only been assisting a fellow shinobi get home safely after having a little too much to drink.

By the end of the week, Ebisu pulls him aside, flushed and embarrassed, and narrates to him a story that he had overheard from his charge, and makes _all_ the blood vessels in Iruka’s head explode.

He spends the entire afternoon _lecturing_ Konohamaru for spreading such horrible lies, subjects him to several weeks of yard duty at the Academy and threatens to hand him only the worse of the worse kinds of D-rank missions — if he ever graduates. Iruka knows that a lot of his students follow him around, spying on him, trying to play tricks on him in revenge for catching them trying to sneak out of class or punishing them for vandalising the Academy grounds, and that Konohamaru, Moegi, and Udon happens to be one of the many.

But this had been too much.

Iruka draws a line at lying.

“But, Iruka-sensei, we saw Kakashi-sensei hug you!” Moegi argues, and if she didn’t look so sincere, Iruka would have not believed her.

“Moegi, there is absolutely no reason for Kakashi-san to hug me.” Iruka tries to not look at the sky and wonders why the flying fuck is he even having this goddamn conversation.

“But he did, Iruka-sensei!” Udon sniffs, and tugs at Konohamaru’s too long scarf and proceeds to demonstrate what looks like a drunken Iruka, hanging off Kakashi’s chest. Iruka watches as Konohamaru droops over Udon’s chest and Udon wraps both arms around Konohamaru’s shoulders. “Like this, see?”

Iruka is sure that it didn’t happen. Children had very active imagination.

“I was not feeling well that night,” Iruka points out, his face burning with a whole new level of embarrassment. He swears that this is going to be the last fucking time that he will ever celebrate his birthday again.

“But he carried you! Like a princess!” Konohamaru argues, adamant. “Moegi even said it’s the same way her dad carries her mom when they’ve had too much beer! You drank a lot of beer on your birthday, didn’t you, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka is pretty sure that if someone would ask him how it feels to have all your organs rupture simultaneously, he’d be able to describe to them, in great detail, how that had felt like.

*

The solution comes in the shape of Hatake Kakashi, one night a good week later in an empty mission room while Iruka is waiting for his shift to end. He had been correcting a few quiz papers in between serving shinobis, when he sees his window of opportunity when Kakashi walks up to him with a lazy greeting and hands in his report.

Iruka knows that his face is about as bright as an apple as he goes through the report, stamps it and put it aside for filing later. But he is determined to address this now rather than later. Rumors tend to fester if not corrected and while it isn’t exactly the hottest topic in the gossip vine anymore, the last thing he wants is for Tenzou to come home and hear lies from the mouths of people who only listen to what they want to hear, with no consideration of how it may affect others.

“Thank you for your hard work, Kakashi-san. Though, if I may have a few minutes of your time, please?” Kakashi grunts in response, and before Iruka can lose his nerve, he casts a weary glance around the empty mission room and carefully stands on his feet. “About last week, it’s my understanding that you had escorted me home?” Kakashi blinks and something about that reaction makes Iruka flinch and wonder if it had been Kakashi at all. “Right?”

“Ah, yes, that was after you made quite the mess of yourself,” Kakashi confirms a little too flatly.

It takes all of Iruka’s strength to not bang his head against something hard. He doesn’t even bother to continue with his line of questioning to confirm any of the rumours — Iruka just assumes that he behaved in the worst possible way while inebriated. Had it been anyone else, he probably wouldn’t have cared at all. But Kakashi is Tenzou’s senpai and something about that just feels so wrong on so many levels.

Iruka takes a step back and proceeds to apologize, bowing his head and keeping his hands on his side. “Please forgive my very poor behavior, Kakashi-san! I was out of place and I should have had better control of my faculties! And the fact that I went ahead and troubled you further, that you took me home and put me to bed — I apologize!”

“So you do remember after all,” Kakashi drawls.

The flush _burns_ and Iruka, for a moment, looks at him with a bit of a terrified expression bordering on panic. “I don’t, actually. I know I went home with someone…”

“That’s all you remember?” Kakashi’s breath comes out of him in an amused huff, and Iruka’s face turns so hot he’s sure there is smoke coming out of his ears.

“Don’t make fun of me! Why do you think I’m standing here apologizing to you? I know myself well, Kakashi-san! I know how I behave after I’ve had a little too much drink!” Iruka takes a step closer, nose wrinkling in absolute distaste at the nerve of this man. He doesn’t understand why Kakashi can’t just accept this a civil attempt to apologize. He cannot even comprehend what can be so funny about something like this. Iruka’s voice goes up an octave. “So if I touched you in any inappropriate manner that night, if I propositioned you at all — or, or offered you a handjob, a blowjob, or _any_ sort of sexual favors, then I was severely out of line! Therefore, please excuse my poor behavior and accept my apology, at once!”

Kakashi’s eyebrow shoots up under his forehead protector and he levels Iruka with a vaguely amused look, the shadows of his mouth curling into a slow smirk that would almost be devastatingly sexy, if not for the fact that Iruka is trying not to have a meltdown. But then, Kakashi opens his mouth, and what comes out is, “You say that like it’s something you do regularly.”  

Iruka stomps forward, hands planting on the desk, flush spreading all the way to his toes, chin tipped up, as he wrinkles his nose in irritation. “So what if I do?”

Much to Iruka’s consternation, Kakashi’s amusement only seems to _grow_ . He cants his head slightly, gaze sweeping over Iruka in a look that feels almost like a caress over the entire length of him. It makes Iruka’s eye twitch. “My, how very _naughty,_ Iruka-sensei,” he breathes out, and it sounds as dirty as it feels. “Didn’t you call it… inappropriate?”

Iruka can swear there is a fucking _twinkle_ in Kakashi’s eye, the smug bastard. “You’re the one responding to my sincere apology inappropriately! Stop looking at me like that! In fact, stop _sounding_ like that! The mission room is not a place to exercise your suggestive tones! Save that for a bar or an alley!”

“Suggestive tones, hmm?” Kakashi shrugs a shoulder as he blithely proclaims, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Iruka-sensei.”

“This is how you _sound_ like!” Iruka leans over the desk, drops his voice to as sultry as he can manage and says, “My, my, Kakashi-san, how very naughty~” He even punctuates it with a bit of a throaty moan, before the expression drops from his face and he folds his arms, his point made.

Instead of seeming cowed or sheepish, however, Kakashi’s eye creases into a crescent above the edge of his mask. “I was merely making an observation, Iruka-sensei. It _is_ rather naughty of an Academy teacher to proposition men regularly with… ah, what was it? Offers of blowjobs,” he drawls, the lilt in his voice unbelievably infuriating.

“Of course, because I’m a prudish teacher who knows nothing about what goes on between the sheets. I’m aware.” Iruka rolls his eyes and flops back down heavily on his chair, bringing a hand to his temples. “So did I? Offer to suck your dick, that is. I’m aware of how convincing I can be even when wasted. Or did I beg you to fuck me?”

Kakashi levels him with a look that’s somehow as amused as it is flat, as he quirks a brow. “Really, Iruka-sensei. You teach children with that mouth?”

“I do. Including jerks much like yourself.” Iruka _huffs_ , and glares. “Answer the damn question. Did I or did I not?”

“Saa… What do you think?” Kakashi asks far too lightly for comfort.

Nothing could have prepared Iruka for the level of shame that burns him in that very moment, or the way the heat of his embarrassment swallows him whole, making his heart thud under his ribs as he swallows past the large lump in his throat. A part of Iruka had hoped that he had simply passed out, that he had done none of things he has a tendency to do when he’s drunk. Kakashi’s response, however, is the last nail in his proverbial coffin. Iruka swears, then and there, to not only never celebrate his birthday in such a scale, but to also limit his consumption of alcohol to the safety of his apartment or his friends’ apartments. No more bars. No more public places. Never again.

Iruka looks at the table. “Was it _just_ a blowjob?” The silence that passes makes Iruka bring a hand to his face, sighing deeply with defeat.

“Do you really think I’d take advantage of someone so wasted?” Kakashi asks, his voice quiet with incredulity, the lilt of amusement gone from his tone. “Nothing happened. Though, next time, maybe you shouldn’t drink so much. It’s irresponsible, especially for someone who is an Academy teacher.”

“With all due respect, Kakashi-san, I don’t know you, and not everyone is _like_ you. I know myself. I know my type, I know the kind of people I _would_ hit on. Why do you think I’m here trying to apologize? You think I’m doing this for fun?” Iruka snaps. “I am trying to correct a rumor that is a terrible lie. I don’t appreciate being made fun of when I am being sincere in my apology. I didn’t even expect you to come to the party! Let alone take me home! You should have left me in the alley and kept on walking! And while I am very grateful for your assistance, I am still sorry that you had to do all that! Did you carry me like a princess too? Or is that bullshit, as well?”

“Maa, I don’t know if I’d call you a _princess…”_ But Kakashi doesn’t deny that he did, in fact, carry Iruka like one in his arms.

Iruka buries his face in his hands. Konohamaru had been right. It hadn’t been a misinterpretation of what might have been seen in the dark or an overactive imagination. Iruka thinks he should see a medic after this, with how hot his face feels. He’s certain that he’s blown several blood vessels in his head alone. “Good fucking grief…” Iruka sighs, as dread continues to settle like bad left overs in his stomach. “Did I say anything I shouldn’t have?”

“Hmm…” Kakashi murmurs, as he rubs at his chin through his mask. “I suppose you did say ‘What Naruto doesn’t know won’t hurt him,’ and also insisted that the only way you’d go home is if I showed you a night of adventure. In bed.”

Iruka looks at Kakashi with confusion tugging at his expression. He isn’t sure why he would bring Naruto into the conversation. Trying to recall snippets of that night had failed. “I’m pretty sure it would have been a terrible adventure.”

Kakashi levels Iruka with a steady look and a cocked brow. “I assure you, Iruka-sensei. It would have been nothing short of spectacular. I may be many things, but terrible in bed is not one of them.” Iruka’s eyebrows disappear under his forehead protector at the arrogance and certainty of that statement, as Kakashi’s eye curves into a crescent once more and he says, rather airily, “But, I suppose we’ll never know, since I don’t exactly make it a habit of sleeping with someone who’s blackout drunk.”

“And here I thought those were just _rumors_. How nice that you’re so sure of yourself. Though, all teasing and jokes aside, I am grateful.” Iruka looks at the stack of papers before him and sighs slowly, before raising his gaze up. “That you don’t. Take advantage of blackout, irresponsible, drunk teachers.”

“Maa… I suppose you can say that I prefer partners who can consent,” Kakashi says, and then clears his throat, his eye sliding to meet Iruka’s gaze. “Besides, Naruto would never forgive me if I didn’t make sure you got home safe.”

Iruka’s rubs the back of his head in confusion. “Kakashi-san, I doubt I’d go that far. Naruto understands social circles. He’s not going to fault you for my irresponsible drinking at my own birthday party.”

“What Naruto understands is that you’re his precious person,” Kakashi declares gently. Iruka falls quiet at that, eyes widening. “But he can’t be here to protect you right now. So, I suppose you can say that I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.”

Realization settles within Iruka slowly, as the implication of Kakashi’s words grows clear — Naruto must have asked Kakashi to look after him, to keep him safe, to protect his precious sensei in his absence. “He asked you…” Iruka sounds a little breathless and immediately ducks his gaze away, warmth flaring in his chest. “That’s very nice of him, so thoughtful. I didn’t expect that. But you don’t have to — I mean…”

“Ah, don’t worry, I don’t intend to babysit you.” Clearly, Kakashi has better things to do with his time. “Just don’t make it a habit of getting blackout drunk, hmm?”

“Of course,” Iruka mutters, and then clears his throat. “That being said, can I assume that you will dispel the rumors that have been circulating? I normally don’t pay attention or care much about rumors. But this one is important.”

Iruka doesn’t want to imagine what Tenzou may think if he gets a wind of this. While it’s foolish to think that it would mean anything, when neither of them are in a committed relationship, Iruka still doesn’t want him to feel such blatant disrespect.

He knows what it feels like to hear such terrible things that you don’t want to believe, to hear whispers about the one you love being seen with someone else, to have people talk behind your back and talk about a relationship that no one will ever understand. Iruka knows how deep words can cut — sometimes, they’re sharper than any blade.

Words hurt.

Words destroy.

Iruka knows this. He carries the scars under his own skin.

“Relax,” Kakashi says dismissively as he gives a good-natured roll of his eye and tucks his hands into his pockets. “Nothing happened.”

Dread pulls all the color out of Iruka’s face as he looks at Kakashi with a discomfort that he tries to squash down. “I believe you,” Iruka says slowly. He tries again, one more time, daring to hope. “So you’ll do it? Correct the lies?”

“You should know better than to ask me that.” Kakashi gives him an incredulous look like he can’t actually believe Iruka would think he _wouldn’t_ correct any rumors, and turns to walk away, waving a dismissive hand as he airily proclaims, “Stop worrying so much. It’ll pass.”

“Right,” Iruka says, knowing now that he cannot count on Kakashi to dispel something that is his fault. The request had been a shot in the dark anyway. Iruka dips his head forward in a polite bow, even though Kakashi probably can’t see. “Thank you for your time, Kakashi-san. And for your assistance.”

Only when he’s alone, does Iruka bury his face in his hands and sighs heavily.

*****

The rumors, thankfully, die down in another two weeks, only coming up in a whisper here and there and so easily corrected by many. Iruka isn’t sure if Kakashi had a hand in it, he’s just grateful that it had stopped.

Iruka also doesn’t see Kakashi after that evening. He’s rather grateful that he doesn’t.

*

Summer descends upon Konoha with a heat wave so harsh that it leaves the ground cracked and dry. The first summer shower doesn’t fall till the eighth week of Tenzou’s absence. Iruka had learned at an early age that waiting is the most difficult part of being a shinobi. He remembers being far too small, being left with friends and neighbors when his parents had to go on missions together. He remembers wanting to get used to the feeling of waiting, learning to pretend that his parents remained with him every time he closed his eyes, humming his mother’s favorite song, or reciting his father’s favorite poem, as though they were right there with him, even when they were so far away.

He goes to sleep pretending that there are warm arms around him.

He wakes up and pretends that the sound of rushing water from the apartment above him is actually coming from his own bathroom, that Tenzou is in the apartment, puttering around and waking up to make coffee. It makes the waiting easier — pretending.

Even if it doesn’t ease the numbing ache of waiting.

Iruka tells himself that Tenzou is fine.

That he’ll be home soon.

That he isn’t hurt somewhere, bleeding and injured. That wherever Tenzou is, he is fighting strong.

*

Tenzou’s feet are caked in mud, his pants ashy and splattered with dried, crusting blood. The white of his armor no longer gleams, dulled by the dirt from travel and battle. He crosses a dirt path under towering canopies of flowering orange and mango trees, his travel pack heavy as he walks under the glittering sunlight pouring through the leaves. The dirt road eventually opens up to an open field of lavender, vibrant and purple beneath the sun and the clear blue sky. The purple goes on as far as the eyes can see and Tenzou crosses all that distance, the calming scent filling his nostrils as his cloak brushes over the petals until he reaches a small clearing and walks past a wooden fence, where just beyond, he can hear laughter.

The ANBU mask comes off, gets tucked into his travel pack just as he walks past the rows of planted cabbage, lettuce, eggplants, pumpkins, and tomatoes, rounding the side of a large house to step into the backyard where he sees four toddlers no older than the age of three or four puttering around on the grass after a baby goat and a barking brown furred corgi. Just beyond, Toshio is practicing taijutsu with Naruto, who is dodging and blocking and there, unclipping laundry and dropping pegs into a basket, is Iruka —  beautiful, wonderful, and loving Iruka— asking the children to stop bothering the goat and play with Jiro the dog instead. Iruka, who shoos Momo — the large, spotted black and brown bobtail cat — from his laundry basket as he drops a folded bed sheet into it.

Something in Tenzou’s chest unravels, as he drops his bag heavily on the grass, which causes silence to fall amongst the children and Iruka’s brown eyes to snap on to his direction.

There is a sharp, gleeful chorusing shriek of ‘papa’, and Tenzou suddenly finds himself with an armful of four children, four pairs of brown eyes looking up at him with joy, and equally wide smiles. Naruto stands off to the side rubbing the back of his head, grinning as well, and Toshio regards him just as shyly and approaches him at a more sedate pace. Toshio doesn’t pull away when Tenzou presses dry lips to the crown of his head.

But it is Iruka who has the widest smile of all, Iruka who is crossing the distance between them, Iruka who wraps his arms around his shoulders and slants his mouth over Tenzou’s and very softly whispers, “Welcome home.”

Tenzou closes his eyes, tightens his arms around the man that is his life, as the weight of the children clings to his dirty travel cloak, and opens his mouth to respond, to tell Iruka and his family that it’s good to be back.

What leaves his mouth instead is a soft choked breath, as light pours into the cramped, dark isolation cell, and his eyes adjusts to the sudden light. There are hands on him all of a sudden, peeling away the remnants of the dream, harsh voices telling him that he needs to get up, that he’s receiving his sentence.

Tenzou’s sense of time is warped. He doesn’t know what day it is anymore, not when he’s been in isolation for what he thinks is two weeks, eating in the dark, pissing in the dark, with nothing but his dreams of a home that he wants nothing more but to have come true and soft whispers of Iruka’s words to fight strong brushing over him like a caress.

Fight strong, Iruka whispers again, right into his ear, as Tenzou is dropped onto cold tiles, stripped of his prison overalls, and hosed down with cold water. Tenzou shudders with the cold, remains tight lipped and silent as he is manhandled and ordered to dress in different colored overalls. Fight strong, Iruka says again, and Tenzou keeps his eyes to the ground as he is dragged down a very long hallway, thrown into a cell before a panel like he’s nothing more than a dog, and grunts when he is asked to sit down and wait for the proceedings to continue. Tenzou doesn’t look up from the ground, not yet.

Tenzou hates prisons. Hates the isolation. Hates the purposeless fights and beatings. The pathetic politics cooked up by insecure minds and broken wills.

Hates this fucking mission with a passion that ignites fire in his veins so strong, that Tenzou doesn’t feel the cold on his skin anymore. Iruka’s voice is louder in his ear, firmer, clear as the gleam in Tenzou’s eyes when he raises his gaze from the floor and sees Stag looking at him from the cell next to him.

Tenzou looks at the crowd and the guards, spots Sparrow and Raccoon, and knows that their escape will go according to plan.

(I’m coming home, Iruka. It won’t be long now.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That farm thing? Blame Sukikyoshi for putting that in my head.  
> And there we have it. Tenzou is coming home~ YAY!
> 
> Also, TROLL!Kakashi is fun. Hands up if you like TROLL!Kakashi \O/
> 
> Come say hi tumblr @pinkcatharsis | discord @pandashi#7565


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [Sub_textual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual). Including all of Kakashi's dialogues/action.

The explosion that rocks the walls throws the entire court assembly into smoke and chaos.

It was always going to be a risk, breaking out of this particular prison.

Raccoon and Sparrow move, disguised as prison guards and knocks several of the prisoners and guards alike  out of the way, their weight dropping like bricks to the ground. Tenzou gets no more than a few seconds before Sparrow appears behind him, presses the palm of his hand between his shoulderblades and releases the chakra seal.

Tenzou falls on his knees, gasps as power _floods_ through him.

He henges to a guard, and in seconds, he’s following Sparrow through the wall opening, just as raccoon sets off another explosion in the other end of the prison as distraction.   
  
They bypass a lot of the oncoming response team.

Tenzou knows that if he didn’t have a Hyuuga on his team, getting out alive with minimal casualties would have been next to impossible.

*

They run for days, cutting through mountainous terrain carving downwards towards a river, fighting through several pursuers and shaking them off their trail. Tenzou feels the strain on his chakra reserves as they leap over the river bank and cut through the thick forest, lacerations from battle soaking through his prison overalls. The ache goes ignored, the fatigue dismissed, as desperation and need to get away supersedes everything else.

They don’t stop running.

It’s way past midnight when they cross the border into Bear Country; Raccoon and Sparrow send four clones towards Fang as they find a place to rest by a lake to dress their wounds. Raccoon takes first watch as Tenzou closes his eyes and tries not to shudder from the cold seeped into his bones. He’s never been happier to strip out of prison overalls. He’s never felt more close to home, more like himself, when he slips into his uniform and armor, the weight of the white mask and Konoha’s symbol a welcomed comfort after weeks of being surrounded by darkness and prison gangs who thought they had it in them to make Tenzou theirs, that his will and strength was so weak that he would bend over for them, surrender his body to their whims. They didn’t know that he’d fight back as hard as he did. They didn’t expect it.

They don’t linger longer than necessary. Tenzou doesn’t need to push his team. He can see it in their eyes, the desperate need to get home.

They move and cross into Earth’s border by nightfall the next day.

Konoha has never felt so far away.

(Iruka has never felt so far away.)

*

It takes five days to cut across Earth.

It takes a day and a half to cover the distance from Waterfall’s western border and its eastern border.

The rain slows them down, but they don’t stop. Tenzou prefers to travel in the rain, because it washes their tracks clean off the earth and dampens their scent.

By sunrise on the ninth day since their prison breakout, they cross Fire’s border.

Tenzou doesn’t bother to hide his relief when he sees the familiar thick, towering treeline of katsura trees in the distance. He knows that they’ll be in the village late that evening, knows that when the stars come out and shine their brightest, he’ll be home.

He’ll have Iruka in his arms again.

*

In the blanket of the night, rain falls in sharp chaotic drops, slicing through the veil of the summer heat and quenching the scorching earth — pitiless, steady, until the roads turn into shallow rivers. It comes in waves, one moment a strong rush over a sleeping village, like prairie hailstones, loud and almost deafening in its relentless attempt to shatter eardrums. Suddenly it hushes, soft and gentle, a distant melody, each raindrop a songword written by the gods, bringing serenity to the chaos that had cracked the earth.

Iruka sleeps through it all, bent over an impossible number of stacked papers and scrolls. He sleeps with a pen poised over an exam answer sheet, a cup of cold coffee forgotten on the coaster beside him, uncaring about the rain and the rattling of his air conditioning unit. He sleeps without intending to; there’s no time to rest when there’s but a week before the Academy closes down for the summer and he still has grades to finalize.

Iruka hasn’t slept in a week.

It takes four sharp knocks for his mind to pick up on the noise. It takes a fifth knock for Iruka to jerk back from the table, wincing at the sudden upright snap, pen dropping as he reaches backwards to press on the ache coiling like hot steel over the curve of his neck and down the length of his spine.

The knock comes again and Iruka is on his feet, senses stretching out and finding no presence beyond the door. He almost believes that it’s a figment of his imagination, a dream he’s having, something cooked up by exhaustion. Iruka blinks the dryness in his eyes away as he opens the door, only to freeze as he stares at the black cloaked figure and the menacing gleam of porcelain under the hallway light. Iruka blinks a few time, unable to cloak his surprise.

There’s not a sound coming out of the person before him, chakra so tightly compressed, presence muted, that had it not been for the solid shadow standing before him, Iruka would think he’s probably just dreaming.

The figure before him may as well just be a figment of Iruka’s imagination.

Iruka steps back, frozen feet moving as he holds the door open. He watches with the breath caught in his lungs as the sopping, wet figure steps into the genkan. He watches, with his heart pounding under his ribs, how the figure goes eerily still as he shuts the door and turns the lock.

It takes several heartbeats for the sound of harsh breathing to slowly fill the space of the genkan, and several more for the presence to make itself known. Tenzou unravels right before Iruka’s eyes, control falling off him like the rainwater dripping to the floor, ragged breathing coming out fast — sharp huffs from under the mask, the tightly-reined back chakra flooding out of him in a rush until it settles in an exhausted, waning thrum. Iruka watches as a gloved hand comes up to pull the mask off, while the other pulls the hood back to reveal long, clumped up strands of light brown hair, a horrid, tangled mess, paired with a patchy, gritty stubble that must have once been a beard trimmed poorly. Iruka sees the sharp lines that carves into Tenzou’s leaner body. He sees exhaustion, quiet and subdued, even as Tenzou catches his breath from having run all the way from whatever godforsaken place he had come from, hoping for respite from the demanding storms beyond Iruka’s door. Tenzou stands straight, rigid, the perfect soldier, ready to be commanded even when his strength drips off him in a puddle of dusky rainwater.

Iruka almost thinks that the figure before him is unreal. That he has to be dreaming about the man whom he’s been waiting for what feels like forever.

There’s a hesitant tremble in Iruka’s fingers when he reaches for the mask in Tenzou’s hand, pulling it away from his grip to carefully set it down on the counter. He reaches forward again to peel off the travel cloak, allows it fall with a wet, heavy thud on the floor. He strips off the layers of armor and black fabric, dropping it all down carelessly like they’re meant  to be discarded, until Tenzou stands there in just his boots and pants, shoulders narrower, collarbones and jaw sharper, his body littered with fading bruises, some dark, some almost yellow. There are harsh red lines of new scars that hadn’t been there almost ten weeks ago and Iruka can only look on with a helpless ache, fingers brushing over them gingerly as he raises his gaze to Tenzou’s piercing, eerily focused one.

Iruka offers a small, shaky smile, swallowing past the constriction in his throat and the sudden swell of emotion. “Missed me?” The words come out soft, hesitant, addressing the fact that Tenzou had run all the way to Iruka’s apartment instead of his own —  dirty, grimy, smelling of the earth, rain and sweat, exhausted and so dangerously pale> Breath stutter in his lungs with each heavy gulp of air Tenzou sucks in through parted, dry lips.  
  
“Yes…” Tenzou breathes out, eyes as dark as the night sky, as sharp as the edge of the sword lying on the floor. Tenzou’s hand snaps onto Iruka’s wrist, a bit jittery, adrenaline yet to wear off, a side effect of too many soldier pills. Iruka can feel the quake in Tenzou’s tight grip as he wraps his shaking arms around Iruka. There is hesitation in the gesture, one that melts away the moment Tenzou buries his face into the crook of Iruka’s neck and inhales sharply, deeply. “ _Yes_ …” Tenzou sighs once more.

And Iruka can only embrace him as tight as he can possibly manage, holding onto the man he’s been waiting for far too long.

“Welcome back,” Iruka whispers, face splitting to a wide smile, uncaring that he’s getting wet and dirty, that his toes can feel the grains of the mud collecting rainwater in the genkan.

The strength leaves Tenzou like candlelight being snuffed out in the wind. With one last exhale, Tenzou’s knees gives out and he comes down like a house of cards, sinking to his knees but arms not loosening its hold on Iruka.

They remain kneeling in genkan for a long time, until the jitters stop and Tenzou finally murmurs, “It’s good to be back.”

The joy that washes over Iruka in that moment makes him feel whole.  
  
*

Tenzou’s strength wanes dangerously to almost nothing.

Iruka helps Tenzou wash over a week’s worth of travel, and untangles, dries, and brushes his long hair to a shine before helping him into bed. Tenzou groans almost gratefully as he sinks into the mattress, spread naked and uncaring as he closes his eyes and sighs deeply. He’s out like a lightbulb, no more than a few seconds passing before Tenzou’s breaths even out and he’s lying there, fast asleep, in a show of open vulnerability and trust, leaving himself in Iruka’s hands. Tenzou doesn’t stir, doesn’t flinch when Iruka channels chakra, and carefully heals the minor wounds on his body, stitching flesh together; when the jutsu doesn’t hold, Iruka stitches skin together. Tenzou doesn’t twitch either when Iruka tugs the sheets over his chest and proceeds to clean the mess in the genkan, his breath remaining steady even when Iruka checks in on him later, making sure there’s no fever or anything worrisome.

Tenzou sleeps undisturbed and only shifts to curl onto Iruka’s side of the bed hours later when the sun begins to rise, the first rays pouring through the curtains, spilling a line of gold over the sheets just as Iruka finishes the last of his work pile with a long, tired yawn.

Tenzou doesn’t wake up when Iruka prepares food in the kitchen, utensils clinking together softly, stove hissing. Tenzou doesn’t even crack an eye open after Iruka cleans up, packs up generous portions of food in bento boxes that he leaves stacked in the fridge. Even after Iruka showers and dresses for the day, Tenzou remains curled into Iruka’s pillow. Iruka leaves him like that, powerless to the warmth in his chest, as he tugs the sheet higher and brushes fingers gently over a pale cheekbone.

Tenzou stirs then, eyelids fluttering open, unfocused gaze finding Iruka before he turns to lie on his back, a hand sluggishly wrapping around Iruka’s wrist to keep him in place.

“What time is it?” Tenzou rasps, turning to look at the wall clock and blinking a few times, as if trying to clear the fog in his gaze and failing.

“A little before eight.” Iruka sits down on the edge of the bed. He watches how Tenzou closes his eyes in resignation, fingers releasing its hold on Iruka’s wrist. “I’ll be back in the evening. Hopefully not too late. It’s the last Academy week before we close for the summer.”

“I worked hard. I deserve a gold star,” Tenzou mutters sluggishly.

Iruka looks at him for a long moment before he huffs a soft sound of amusement, standing to pull out a drawer where he keeps his stationery supplies. He takes out the extra gold marker, and carefully draws a big star on the the back of Tenzou’s hand. He colors in the spaces within the lines just as Tenzou makes a small noise at the back of his throat and continues to sleep.

Tenzou is going to have a hard time washing it off but it ought to make him grin and maybe even chuckle when he wakes up.

*

The first thing Tenzou sees when he opens his eyes, is the very faint sway of vibrant red petals under the gentle cool breeze blowing out of the old air conditioning unit Iruka keeps in the corner of his room. The second thing Tenzou notices when he reaches forward for the note and glass of water by the pot of daisies is the very shiny, hard to miss gold star drawn on the back of his hand. The sight of it makes him pause, as he stares with a dumbstruck expression at the sparkle of gold ink on his skin under the spill of the late afternoon light.

Tenzou laughs raspily, sudden and unguarded, face splitting to a grin of amusement as he sits up from bed and empties the glass of water Iruka had left for him. He reads the note that says:

**_Bento boxes in the fridge. Finish it all or what you can. Uniform on the couch. Stay and relax, if you wish. Extra key on the counter, if you need it. See you in the evening : )_ **

Tenzou folds the note and leans his head back on the headboard, heavy and still so very tired. He wants nothing more than to curl back into the sheets, sleep the rest of the hours away and hopefully, when he wakes up, Iruka would be home. He can then sidle up into Iruka’s space, gather him in his arms and kiss him the way he’s been wanting to for the past almost ten weeks.

But Tenzou gets out of bed instead, exhaustion still tugging him down to discover that not only did Iruka clean up the mess he knows he had left in the genkan, but Iruka had also washed his uniform and travel cloak, now stacked in a neat pile on the couch. His armor had been scrubbed clean too, now gleaming white and also arranged carefully on the couch along with a folded towel and a disposable shaving kit. A quick glance at the genkan tells him that the mud was also rinshed off his boots, that they now sit dried and ready for use.

Tenzou would have been happy to have them all shoved into a bag. He didn’t expect Iruka to go the extra mile. He certainly didn’t have to.

(But then, that’s just the kind of man Iruka is. Always doing so much, giving so much while expecting nothing in return.)

Tenzou tugs on the pants and shirt, warmth spreading in his chest, and for a moment, his fatigue seems nonexistent in the sudden burst of affection. He takes the time to shave the stubble off his face, gathers his long hair into a ponytail, and then takes out the bento boxes; it’s not lost to him that Iruka prepared some of his favorites: seared salmon, spinach gomaee, cabbage salad, tamagoyaki, and onigiri. The warmth only intensifies as he finishes up his meal and washes out the containers, when he realizes that coming to Iruka directly had been the best decision he’s ever made.

That he should do it more often.

Tenzou sends a clone back to his apartment with the the rest of his gear, hopefully to get a head start in making his apartment habitable again. A part of him thinks he shouldn’t bother, that he should just grab a spare change of clothes, his shaving kit, and toothbrush and just stay with Iruka until he gets called out again. Or just keep his uniform and gear with Iruka and call it a day. He doesn’t need clothes; it would distract Iruka a lot, but that tends to build up Iruka’s sexual appetite and Tenzou does so love it when Iruka gets a little demanding, when he pushes him down, roughens up his foreplay, and accuses him of being a very distracting living room display, that he can’t concentrate on his children's workbooks.

It sounds tempting. Less trouble, too.

Tenzou can’t stop the grin from tugging on his face at the thought of it.

The other part of him, the one that still had some form of logic left, points out that it’s presumptuous of him to think that Iruka would just let him stay, even if he has already offered him the spare key. It’s but a thoughtful thing on Iruka’s part. It doesn’t give Tenzou the right to assume that such an action is to be expected of Iruka, who is always accommodating others and their needs. But they aren’t a couple, and that part of Tenzou’s mind reminds him yet again that all this is just another agreement to satisfy physical needs, much like the mutual understanding he has with Kakashi.

Something about that makes everything in Tenzou go a little still, as he stares at the gold star drawn on hand.

It’s an easy decision to make, packing up his things and leaving without a trace.

He can just come back in the evening once Iruka is done with the Academy, even when all he wants to do is lounge on Iruka’s couch, nap on his favorite pineapple shaped cushion and wait for Iruka to come home.

Tenzou doesn’t take the key.

It’s not his place to take the key, not when it feels like he’s short-changing Iruka in a lot of things, even if it was so freely offered.

*

The briefing dossier takes _hours_ to read.

By the time Tenzou vacates the empty office, it is dark outside and he has ten weeks of information pounding in his head. Tenzou had given his team’s report earlier on and knows he’ll be in the village for at least a week after their arduous mission. Judging from the briefing, he probably won’t be sent out for too long with the Chuunin Exams taking place in the next six weeks. They won’t be getting a lot of foreign candidates this year, but that doesn’t mean an occurrence like the one that had robbed them of the Sandaime won’t happen again. He’d seen the tight, detailed security plan Tsunade intends to put in place.

After being in prison, Tenzou is more than willing and happy to go on patrol and guard duty for a little while, stay a little closer to home, especially with the increase in skirmishes outside of Konoha’s borders — something that is a little too close for comfort.

Weeks ago, it had been further out, but with the gates repair finally completed, attempts to get into Konoha has increased.

Tenzou sighs, walking towards the  relatively busy armory and puts in a request for new boots and gloves. Snippets of muffled conversation flow behind several white masks as he waits for his boots; to an outsider, the conversations would sound nothing short of calculating and callous. But Tenzou knows that despite the tone, everyone in the armory is exchanging, if not verifying, village gossip.

People are under the impression that ANBU are ruthless inhumans who rarely talk, if at all. But Tenzou knows that a good chunk of ANBU love to gossip, and do so very discreetly and with very little words. It comes with the job, being subjected to the most embarrassing if not awkward of things — a form of entertainment, in some way. Tenzou has heard stories about the Hokage’s office being put to very good use from his predecessors, has heard countless ridiculous things that go on in the administration building. And while ANBU knows better than to listen to actual village gossip, it doesn’t stop them from having a good chuckle behind the mask. Which is why Tenzou feels a little strange when he goes rigidly still, as he catches a snippet of Mammoth and Badger’s conversation when they walk past him in the waiting line.

“What teacher?” Mammoth asks, sounding confused.

“The Jinchuuriki’s teacher. You know, _that_ one. Kakashi-senpai took him home, picked him up in an alley. Poor teacher apparently looked so haggard the next day.” Badger laughs, sounding incredulous.

“Didn’t peg Kakashi-senpai to go for the cute, pretty, innocent types. I’m surprised the teacher kept up.” Mammoth laughs too, and Tenzou can only stand there mutely as he digests this information and realizes that there’s actually nothing amusing about that particular gossip.

It isn’t funny.

Not one bit.

Tenzou isn’t sure why he feels irritated. Or why his heart begins to viciously thud in sync with the mad roar of rushing blood in his ears, when those words, probably false and exaggerated, hits him a little too hard under the ribs.

Tenzou knows better than to listen to gossip.

Tenzou is above exaggerated misinformation.

And yet, clamping down on the irritation that segues off to something hotter and a little more visceral takes more effort than it should. Little hands and and feet belonging to a noisy boy who has no business making demands, who fucking knows better, kicks and screams in protest from the deepest part of him in a vicious tantrum because the truth is, Tenzou knows that if the rumors are true, Iruka would probably be the best thing to happen in Kakashi’s life. That Iruka can be the thing that holds him together, and if anything, make him stronger, because that’s just the kind of man Iruka is.

(Iruka is all the good there is in the world. He’s everything that’s worth fighting for. Being stronger for. Being _better_ for.)

The anger in him snuffs out like a candle, throwing everything in him into a quiet darkness. It leaves him suddenly feeling a little too bone tired, worn, with the disappointed resignation and something that feels like a tight fist wrapping around everything under Tenzou’s rib cage and slowly, slowly squeezing until he can’t seem to breathe.

He should probably find out if Kakashi’s interest still burns as bright as the rumor indicates and that if it does, Tenzou should probably just call things off with Iruka; of the two of them, it’s Kakashi that needs all the help that he can get.

Someone like Tenzou doesn’t need help. Tenzou has no reason to require help. Someone with no emotion, no past, and no future doesn’t need something so bright in their life.

He isn’t broken. He’s as whole as a shadow can be, and will continue to be so, whether or not Iruka is a part of his life. Servitude to Konoha is what he’s made for. The thought hurts like a fistful of lighting shoved into his chest — not seeing Iruka anymore, not having him, not being able to kiss him or feel the warmth of his skin.

Tenzou pretends that it doesn’t.

Iruka is just an itch to scratch. Nothing more.

*

It’s probably a coincidence and good timing that Tenzou bumps into Kakashi on his way out of ANBU headquarters, just as Kakashi leaves the Hokage tower. Tenzou clamps down on his chakra as hard as he can, not wanting anything of whatever the fuck had overcome him in the ANBU armory to happen in front of Kakashi.

Had it not been for the fact that Tenzou had spent ten weeks out of the village, he’d say that Kakashi looks just about as bad as the exhaustion that still courses through Tenzou’s veins. Tenzou isn’t one to waste opportunity and to beat around the bush, so he raises a hand up in greeting and decides to just get this whole thing over and done with.

“Senpai,” Tenzou says, nodding, ever so polite.

“Yo, Tenzou, haven’t seen you in a while.” Kakashi’s gaze sweeps over him in mild concern, then settles on his hair, a silver brow quirking up slightly. “Well… This is awfully nostalgic.”

“Yes, yes…” Tenzou rolls his eyes, shaking his head in mild amusement. “It suits prison,” Tenzou offers and sees understanding flash in Kakashi’s gaze. Kakashi knows what it’s like, to be out in the field for so long that you come back looking nothing like yourself.

They fall into step as the sun disappears from the sky, casting Konoha into a sea of orange that segues to purple. They take the main road, bypassing the Academy and its quiet playground, half its lights turned on.

Kakashi would probably come by and pick Iruka up from the Academy on evenings like this if Iruka were his. They’d probably walk shoulder to shoulder, with Iruka’s happy flushed face glowing under the glittering lights of Tea Avenue. He’d probably even tell Kakashi about his day, stories about his kids that always made Iruka look a hundred times happier. The love in Iruka’s eyes would make the gold specs in those beautiful brown irises twinkle brighter and all that love, all that warmth, dedication, and affection would be directed to _only_ Kakashi. Despite the bustling crowd, Kakashi would be the only thing that matters.

The vivid picture sends a hot wave of bitterness, and right after it, aftershocks of unexpected disgust; it makes Tenzou’s stomach turn, sends white hot anger and self-hatred pumping through his veins, making his heart race because really, who is he to deny anything Kakashi may need? Who is he to even stand in the way of Iruka’s choice if he decides that Kakashi is worth his time, worth his affections?

Who is he to want anything in the first place?

(You’re nobody. You’re nothing — no emotion, no past, no future.)

Tenzou knows that thinking about things that haven’t happened isn’t going to gain him any favours and that the best way to cease this entire unwarranted, emotional — _unnecessary —_ farce is to verify if the information is correct, then either fuck off or continue his arrangement with Iruka. He would have preferred to have a drink before asking what he’s about to ask, but decides to forego it completely and take the matter by the horns. No drink would ever silence the hideous, clawing monster under the prison of his rib cage.

(Tenzou has doubts that anything will.)

“I heard a funny thing today.” Tenzou shifts the paper bag with his boots and gloves to his other arm, tucking his palm with the gold star that wouldn’t wash off into his pocket. “You’re into vanilla teachers now?” Tenzou thinks it’s a great opening for the conversation he didn’t want to have, delivered with just enough amusement, peppered with just enough curiosity.

“Since when did you pay attention to rumours about my sex life?” Kakashi sounds amused.

“What can I say? You’re entertaining.” They turn, bypassing a group of children. Only when their footsteps are a good five meters away does Tenzou speak again. “He didn’t seem like your type. Tha Academy teacher.”

“Ah, that.” Kakashi’s eye curves up into a crescent. Tenzou quirks his eyebrows, giving Kakashi a pointed look. Kakashi likes it rough, dirty, and as messy as it can get. Three things Tenzou knows Iruka is more than capable of delivering, if not more. “Found him wasted, running away from his own birthday party. So I took him home.”

Tenzou tries not react, looking at the road ahead instead. He had not known anything about a birthday party, let alone it being Iruka’s birthday. “You’re going to parties now, too?” Tenzou shakes his head, even when everything in him remains as frozen as a lake in winter, uncertain, not daring to budge from its solid state just yet. “Wow, Senpai. I’m almost impressed. He must have made an impression if you’re going that far.”

“He’s the type who wants commitment,” Kakashi deadpans.

Commitments and Kakashi are two things that don’t mix — this, Tenzou knows very well.

“Is it so bad, though? Commitment?” Tenzou asks, keeping his gaze ahead as evening slowly begins to press over Konoha’s horizon. “Coming home to someone, having a big house, a house pet —summons in your case, a bunch of kids crowding around you? People fight for that.” Kakashi is looking at him with what Tenzou can only assume is an are-you-serious look.  Tenzou holds his hand up, in surrender, as the icy lake in hims slowly cracks and beings to unfreeze. Relief comes with the warm realization that he doesn’t have to step away, that he doesn’t have to let Kakashi have something he subconsciously isn’t willing to let go just yet.

“The only impression he made is that he’s a terrible drunk.” Kakashi’s visible eye twinkles with amusement, even when his tone remains bored, the words drawling, like it’s too much of a drag to speak of something that isn’t so important. “You know, he even tried to tell me that the only way he’d let me take him home is if I offered him an adventure. In bed.” Kakashi punctuates the statement with a slight roll of his eye and a shake of his head.

“Adventure, huh?” Tenzou doesn’t look at Kakashi when the truth rolls out of his tongue. “He might be a lot of fun. When he’s not wasted.”

“Hmm,” Kakashi murmurs as he gives a slight, lackadaisical shrug of the shoulder. “Perhaps. But as I said, he seems like the type who wants commitment, and you know I don’t do that.”

Tenzou turns to look at Kakashi then, sees the complete lack of interest; he doesn’t push the matter further, doesn’t see the need to when there’s nothing in Kakashi’s posture that indicates he may be deflecting. Tenzou hums and says nothing else, just as the ice in his chest disappears completely. The breath he sucks in tastes sweeter, more fulfilling. Tenzou has his answer. The rumors don’t matter, Kakashi doesn’t want Iruka.

The only thing that matters at this point is that Tenzou missed Iruka’s birthday.

They turn onto Tea Avenue, walking by several stores and restaurants until Tenzou’s legs slow down in front of a bakery, the warm, sweet scent of orange and cinnamon filling his nose, his gaze sliding over  the crowd in the bakery lining up for the freshly baked cinnamon rolls.

He parts ways with Kakashi when he decides to stand in line; it’s definitely something Iruka would enjoy.

Tenzou pretends like the breath that fills his lungs isn’t relief.

*

Iruka is thankfully home when Tenzou arrives a little after eight with groceries in a paper bag and a box of warm cinnamon rolls. Iruka looks at him like he’s seeing him for the first time, brown eyes brushing over Tenzou’s frame in a slow stroke before looking away with a bit of a flush riding high on his cheekbones. Iruka pointedly doesn’t look at him after, resuming his task of preparing dinner as Tenzou starts to empty the paper bag. He presses a large, juicy, wonderfully sweet satonishiki cherry between Iruka’s lips, pushing it into his mouth with a finger and watching Iruka chew like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Iruka’s lips are about as sweet as the seasonal fruit when Tenzou licks it. Tenzou can’t stop the grin from stretching over his lips when he pulls his tongue back.

“Tastes good on you, Sensei,” Tenzou murmurs, watching Iruka swallows the fruit, spitting the seed into a paper towel and blushes as red as the cherry.

“If you’re going to tease and distract me, dinner won’t be ready and I won’t be responsible if your stomach starts grumbling,” Iruka mutters tartly, turning around and proceeding to chop the cabbage he had been working on. From the assembly of ingredients, Tenzou knows they’re having okonomiyaki for dinner.

“Ahhh, I haven’t had okonomiyaki in a while. What a treat~” Tenzou wraps his arms around Iruka’s middle, watching him chop up the rest of the cabbage, chin finding a comfortable perch on Iruka’s shoulder.

It’s this kind of moment that Tenzou has missed in the weeks he’s been away, holding Iruka and watching him do everyday things. There’s something about watching the flex of Iruka’s wrist, how the tendons pull and shift with each motion of chopping, stirring, and plating their dinner. It’s the concentrated look glowing in those brown depths, how Iruka’s jaw tightens involuntarily for just a brief moment before it relaxes. Iruka has a habit of biting his inner left cheek when he’s measuring ingredients (or when he’s cutting out ribbons or artwork for his class. Tenzou’s also seen that expression when Iruka is cleaning the apartment or trying to scrub a stubborn stain off his uniform with a toothbrush or something off the counter and floor). Tenzou thinks it’s one of his more attractive quirks, something so absolutely endearing that it makes him wonder if Iruka is aware of any of them.

(Tenzou can lose time watching Iruka and his mannerisms, watching his body move.)

They have dinner together in front of the television, watching a baking contest that Iruka clearly isn’t even paying any attention to. Tenzou knows that sometimes, Iruka stares at his face, unaware that he resembles a mooning teenager or the pining heroes and heroines of _Days of Our Past._ Tenzou knows that Iruka enjoys watching him too, that he does it without realizing it — sometimes in the middle of grading, or reading, or in the middle of folding laundry or when he’s out of the shower, brushing his hair. There’s always something warm in his gaze, soft like the slight dip of his dimples on his cheeks, almost adorably dazed at times.

However, there is nothing soft or even dreamy about the look Iruka is giving him now. It’s sharper, a lot more focused, his eyes pitch black from how wide blown Iruka’s pupils are. The flush remains on his cheeks, mild and no longer as deep as the cherries Tenzou had tucked away into the fridge earlier. Tenzou knows Iruka is aroused, knows that the measured movements hides the heat that is coursing in his veins. It’s only a matter of time before Iruka will crawl over to his lap, straddle him and start running those wonderful hands all over him.

It isn’t till after they’ve emptied the serving plate, done the dishes and Iruka brings two cups of tea to the low table, right in the middle of Tenzou unboxing the cinnamon rolls from its box, that Iruka speaks.

“I want to fuck your mouth,” Iruka says, direct, words dripping with heat despite its casual and almost candid delivery.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking of throughout dinner?” Tenzou huffs a small sound of amusement, carefully plating a cinnamon roll, licking a bit of the too sweet glaze from his finger.

“Yes.” Iruka shifts, removing his chin from its comfortable perch on his palm, propped elbow coming off the table. “I’ve been wanting to push you to your knees and grab you by the throat and hair the moment you walked in that door this evening.”

“You’re assuming I’d _let_ you,” Tenzou counters, lips curling to a slow lopsided smirk that Tenzou knows makes an impact. Iruka is already crawling over towards his lap, palms planting firmly on either of Tenzou’s sides, boxing him in. “A little presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t enjoy it. I’ve seen your face when you’re sucking my cock. You may be quiet, but you’re not _that_ quiet.” Iruka cants his head to the side, and something about the gesture, the vainglorious sheen in his eyes, and the smirk that looks so out of place and yet so at home on that beautiful face makes the blood in Tenzou’s veins roar. “Come on. Let me fuck your mouth, let me watch you swallow my cum. I wanna watch you choke, I want to watch your throat,” Iruka says, as he presses his fingers, gentle and almost like feathers on Tenzou skin, right on his throat, over the swell of his Adam’s apple, “work around my cock. I bet I can make you swallow everything down. I’ll show you a good time.”

Tenzou’s gaze drops down to the ruddy swell of Iruka’s lips, watching him work his teeth over the bottom tier, the hunger already rolling off Iruka in waves. The sight of it, the heat in Iruka’s eyes sends the blood rushing down to his cock. “You sound so sure.”

“I am.” Iruka’s fingers trace a gentle line around Tenzou’s neck, reaching for the ponytail Tenzou had borrowed from the stash Iruka keeps in his bathroom and tugs it free. Tenzou should have seen it coming, the way Iruka grins, feral, toothy, so very conceited. Iruka _yanks_ at his hair, forcing Tenzou’s chin up to the ceiling, forcing his jaw to lock and his teeth to grin as he holds very still, hands carefully remaining lax on the table and his lap as he meets Iruka’s gaze. “Unless you’re too intimidated. What, they don’t train you to swallow?”

Tenzou has to press his tongue behind his teeth to stop the grin from splitting too wide on his face. He doesn’t deem that with a response, closing his eyes when Iruka leans over and gently licks a slow, sensuous line over his lips. When Tenzou opens his eyes again, Iruka is looking at him expectantly, waiting, patient, an eyebrow raised, fist in his hair tightening hard enough for Tenzou’s nose to flare in a sharp inhale.

Iruka didn’t need to convince him any further beyond the tight grip of his fingers. Tenzou leans up and kisses him hard, pushing his tongue into that pertinent mouth that is capable of saying the filthiest of words, spinning the dirtiest of fantasies. It’s quick, how Iruka shifts up to his feet. Tenzou straightens in response, crossing his legs and yanking Iruka forward by the hips.

Iruka’s cotton pants comes down in one swift pull, Tenzou’s fingers tossing it aside as his eyelids lower when Iruka’s fingers cards through his scalp, pushing his bangs off his face and gathering the waist length, smooth strands in his fist, twisting it like one would with a whip around his palm. Tenzou parts his lips just enough to circle around the head of Iruka’s cock, just enough to take in the beading pre-cum gathering on the slit of the swollen head.

Except Iruka jerks him forward — sudden, without warning, unmerciful — and pushes the engorged, blood heavy, thick flesh into Tenzou’s mouth without warning. Tenzou’s eyes widen for a second before his vision clouds with black spots at the force of it, his palm _slamming_ on the wooden table and balling into a white knuckled fist, the rattle of the plate and fork drowning out the surprised sound that rips and suffocates somewhere in his throat. It doesn’t form all the way, and Tenzou has to force himself to remain still, to not shove Iruka the fuck back, not rip that cock right out of his mouth and snarl at the sheer audacity of this man. He blinks through the sudden, involuntary moisture gathering behind his eyelids, forcing his gag reflex down, looks up and finds Iruka looking down at him with a smirk tugging around his slack jaw, looking devilishly handsome, dangerously beautiful.

“Shhhh, easy,” Iruka murmurs, soft, deceptively gentle, no doubt the kind of tone best reserved for children about to burst into tears.“I know you can handle it.”

Tenzou can’t stop the choking noise from forming in his throat, can’t stop his eyelids from scrunching shut as he brings a hand up to Iruka’s hip, carefully curling around the soft skin and gripping down hard enough to bruise, lungs trying to work around his closed off airway, the girth of the flesh in his mouth making his jaw and the sides of his lips stretch to the point that the pleasant burn fuels the heat in Tenzou’s belly, makes his cock strain painfully against the confines of his pants.

Iruka pulls out slow, his other hand finding purchase on the curve of Tenzou’s neck, a gentle caress, a balm to his skin when Iruka’s other hand is anything but gentle in its grip. Iruka slams forward once more, forcing Tenzou to work around his gag reflex before he pulls out completely.

Tenzou _gasps_ , sucking in hungry gulps of air, like he’s breaking the surface of an ocean after being forcefully held down for too long. His breathing, his desperation, sounds too loud for comfort. Everything in him ceases and flares in warning as it draws inwards, tries to clamp down, mutes the harsh sounds leaving his mouth and nose, as the raw, sharp taste that’s all Iruka coats his tongue, clings to the back of his throat in the sweetest of burns. Iruka yanks his hair back again, and Tenzou locks it all down by gritting his teeth as hard as he can, trying to measure his breath, trying to stay calm when everything in him is telling him to not bother, to let it all go, to let Iruka have his fun, let him fuck his mouth and come down his throat just the way he wants.

“You sound beautiful,” Iruka whispers, like it’s a secret meant for no one else to hear but him. “Open up, Tenzou. I want to hear you.”

Tenzou snarls with amusement at the demand, closing his eyes as his lips part, a tremble crawling down his spine as Iruka slides into his mouth once more, rolling his hips forward and so, _so_ slowly begins to fuck his mouth. Tenzou remains slack under Iruka’s grip, following the almost gentle pace Iruka sets, throat constricting and releasing with each roll of Iruka’s hips. Tenzou chokes long enough for the sound of protest to begin to form, only for that sound to die down when Iruka pulls his cock out, letting him breathe just enough to matter, letting him keep his silence for just a moment longer.

Iruka is beautiful like this, standing right above him, abdomen clenching, muscles pulled taut over warm, flushed skin as he tips his chin to the ceiling, breathes through parted lips, telling Tenzou how good his mouth feels, how tight he feels, how beautiful and wonderful he looks like that on the floor, sucking his cock. And when Iruka snaps his hips forward in short, sharp thrusts, Tenzou tries — oh, how he tries — to clamp down on the noise of protest that leaves his throat, the groan that forms in his lungs, powerless by choice as he watches Iruka chew on his lower lip and his head lolls to the side, glazed over eyes trailing down to watch Tenzou choke on his cock, bruised lower lip unfurling from under his teeth, just as Iruka _moans_ his name out breathlessly.

Tenzou doesn’t think he’s seen anything more wondrous, more breathtaking, doesn’t think anyone at this point can hold a candle to Iruka, flushed and demanding, losing himself in the heat of Tenzou’s mouth. It makes everything worth it, makes the almost partial surrender of his silence worth it. Iruka is all Tenzou can see for one bright moment before his head starts to spin and the lack of air makes the spots in the corners of his vision grow wider, until Iruka’s face almost disappears completely.

Iruka pulls out of him all of a sudden, precum, saliva and ragged breaths dripping down Tenzou’s chin and tongue, slopping a sticky mess all over the folds of Tenzou’s pants as he catches his breath, his traitorously trembling lips remaining wide open, chest heaving with a loud, “ _Hah—!“_

The triumphant smirk on Iruka’s face is telling in the wake of that loud, echoing cry in Tenzou’s ears.

It spills color over Tenzou’s face, flushes his skin with embarrassment and fucking shame, the manipulating, little bastard — innocent, vanilla teacher, my fucking ass.

“Make me come, Tenzou,” Iruka says, breathless, so demanding, dimples hollowed with that cheeky smirk dancing on his face.

Tenzou’s visions clears and suddenly, he’s surging forward, taking Iruka’s cock in his mouth and wrapping a fist around the length of it. He presses his tongue against the underside of that thick flesh, works it quick and hard until all Tenzou can hear are the broken syllables of his name spilling out of Iruka’s mouth. Iruka’s hips snaps forward uncontrollably, rhythmless, both his hands now twisted into Tenzou’s hair for purchase, like Tenzou is the only thing keeping him afloat in the raging sea of pleasure he’s drowning in. Iruka’s hips grow erratic in a relatively short time — violent, punctuated by heavy, throaty whimpers, and Tenzou knows he’s so close, can feel Iruka’s balls tighten in his palm, pulling inwards and upwards.

Tenzou has given brutal blowjobs before, has had his mouth so thoroughly used and brutalized far too many times for him to keep track of. But nothing prepares him for the sudden _slam_ of Iruka’s orgasm. Nothing prepares him for how Iruka pushes all the way down his throat without warning, how he forcefully holds his head in place with a grip so tight that if Tenzou _dares_ to resist or fight it, his neck would snap in half. Nothing prepares him for how he suddenly _grabs_ Iruka by the hips and ass, his fingers trembling as he blinks tears out of his gaze and his nose gets buried in the warm skin of Iruka’s groin, heat that burns everything in its wake flooding down his throat and a million stars flashing blindingly behind his scrunched eyelids. Tenzou is caught completely — pathetically — off guard, Iruka’s behaviour unexpected, almost as vicious as what goes on in the shadows, when his knees are soaking into the mud and everything has to finish quick, quick, quick. Iruka comes so hard, thick and viscous, and gods, Tenzou can’t take it all down, can’t think, can’t strategize when Iruka is filling him to the brim.

Suddenly, Iruka is wrenching his head backwards, exposing his neck to the ceiling once more  as cum and saliva comes coughing out, wet and hot, and drips out of Tenzou’s throat and mouth, splattering out in a horrid mess down his chin and all over his cheek. Iruka clamps a palm down sharply over Tenzou’s mouth, clicking his tongue and gripping his hair hard enough to rip strands off his scalp, shaking his head, holding an index finger up as if to shush the noises Tenzou doesn’t realize he’s making. As if to remind him that he has to be fucking quiet, that he shouldn’t protest, that he needs to stand down and not argue — what a  little, fucking _tart._

“Swallow,” Iruka says, an eyebrow cocked, doesn’t budge or let go, even when Tenzou’s hands fly to Iruka’s wrist, ready to snap it in three different ways in half a heartbeat. “ _Swallow_ , Tenzou.”

Tenzou swallows.

His eyes are pitch black, growing sharp as he takes everything down, clears his mouth with that ribald, sharp taste that’s all Iruka, staying so dangerously still, not looking away from Iruka’s face. He watches Iruka watch him, watches as something pleased glimmers like liquid gold in Iruka’s eyes before Iruka lowers his palm from his lips, as Tenzou thinks of a hundred ways to get back at him, thinks of wrapping his hands around that lovely throat, and wrecking Iruka’s body to pieces until Iruka’s voice leaves him, until he forgets to speak for a whole fucking day. He’s going to choke Iruka with his own cock, watch that lovely throat bob, have those fingers claw down the length of his forearm, watch Iruka forget about being polite, prim, and proper, and drag out the filthy little thing he keeps hidden under his uniform and innocent smiles to the light.

Tenzou is going rip him to pieces, make sure that Iruka thinks nothing else but of Tenzou’s cock, filling him, tearing him apart, all throughout his day in Academy the next morning. All throughout the next fucking _week_ while he’s field-active _._

(A part of him thinks Iruka knows this is how he’d react, that this is what he wants, that he expects it.)

Iruka brings his wet, cum smeared palm to his own lips, and runs his tongue over the smeared mess.

Something in Tenzou snaps cleanly in half at the sight of that, as he rolls up in a blink of an eye and pins Iruka down on the floor with a thud that’s going to bruise in the morning, wrists above his head, claiming that gasping, smirking, whorish mouth with his own.

“You fucking little shit,” Tenzou whispers into Iruka’s mouth, grinning when Iruka throws his head back and laughs at the words, welcomes it like he’s been waiting for it this entire time, wrapping his arms around Tenzou’s shoulders, wrapping him in an embrace that Tenzou wishes he can remain in forever.

“Fuck me like I know you want to,” Iruka says, warmth in his gaze as he darts his tongue out and laps at the smear of cum off Tenzou’s chin. “Fuck me real, _real_ good, Tenzou. It’s been ten weeks. I _need_ you.”

Iruka’s hands are on Tenzou’s ass as he _yanks_ him forward, Tenzou’s hard, painful arousal rubbing against Iruka’s softening cum-smeared wet cock.

It’s a request Tenzou doesn’t think he’d be able to resist, even if he tries.

So he doesn’t.

(There’s nothing Iruka will ask of him that Tenzou thinks he’d be able to resist anymore.)

*

Tenzou doesn’t bother to move from the floor from where he had rolled off Iruka, staring dazedly at Iruka sitting and using Tenzou’s pants as a floor cushion, cum dripping out of him as he stares at the laundry soap commercial playing on the television. He watches as Iruka picks up the fallen fork on the floor, drags the plate of the no longer warm cinnamon roll across the table towards him and proceeds to eat the dessert. He makes a pleased noise at the back of his throat at the taste, tongue flicking out over his lips, chasing the orange sweetness.

“You like it?” Tenzou asks, reaching over with a hand, running it down the length of Iruka’s spine, barely suppressing a flinch when the raw bite mark on his shoulder is aggravated with the movement. Iruka had been merciless, had gone all out with his teeth.

“Hmmm, it’s delicious. Thank you.” Iruka smiles, one cheek slightly puffed out as he chews and swallows.

It’s cute. So, _so_ cute.

It’s hard to believe that just moments ago, that mouth was forming bawdy syllables and spilling lewd noises. It’s hard to believe that the grateful, polite response is coming from the same mouth that had demanded Tenzou to swallow cum. Iruka vacillating between two extreme behavioural spectrums fascinates Tenzou like nothing has before, drawing him in like a moth to a flame, and burning in the bright, blinding heat of it all.

Tenzou should have gotten him more than just a box of cinnamon rolls.

Should have brought a cake, too. Maybe even ice cream, or those chocolate cream puffs Iruka splurges on once in a while.

“Happy birthday,” Tenzou exhales, and watches as Iruka turns to look at him, eyes wide and something flashing in his gaze, warmth blooming in his cheeks.

It is unexpected, the soft greeting, how it almost drowns out in the jingle of the now toothpaste ad playing on the television. Iruka’s throat constricts briefly, as he suddenly feels so exposed in the wake of that caress, the soft look in Tenzou’s gaze that also reflects a regret that Iruka isn’t quite sure what to make of. He doesn’t dare think more of it.

“I missed a party, apparently,” Tenzou says, smile tugging his lips back as he shows a full row of teeth.

“It got a little out of hand,” Iruka admits, looking away, remembering the rumors that had stemmed from that disaster of a party.

“So I’ve heard,” Tenzou says and everything in Iruka seizes up.

“Would you have come?” Iruka blurts out, staring at the half eaten cinnamon roll on the plate, at the small specks of the grated orange rind on top that is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. The yawning silence between them is telling, so Iruka waves a hand, preparing himself to dismiss the question all together when Tenzou responds.

“Yes,” Tenzou murmurs, soft and gentle, almost unsure, as Iruka watches him with muted helplessness that pushes the gates that holds all the love and affection Iruka tries to hold in. Tenzou rolls up to a seated position, enveloping Iruka in leaner but no less warm arms, pressing lips to the curve of Iruka’s shoulder. “I owe Iruka-sensei a nice present. What would Iruka-sensei like?”

“Nothing,” Iruka answers and closes his eyes, leaning into Tenzou’s tightening embrace and closing his eyes, feeling Tenzou’s chest rumble with a humming response. “I have everything I need right here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B99-ANON, behold, the gold star!
> 
> Jealous Tenzou is creepy. At least, to me, he's creepy. But gosh, he's soooo sexy. My goodness. Huuu. 
> 
> Thank you for reading -- let me know what you think! Feel free to shout/yell at tumblr @pinkcatharsis | discord: pandashi#7565 | gtalk: shishichan
> 
> :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by [Sub_textual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sub_textual/pseuds/sub_textual).

That night, as Tenzou spreads his arms for Iruka to curl against his side, he is left hanging for a moment when Iruka tugs his hand, the one that isn’t sparkling with a drawn gold star.

Iruka draws another star on the back of his hand.

“Tenzou-san deserves to be acknowledged~” Iruka sing songs, colouring in the gold star.

The star is sweet. Cute, even.

Tenzou didn’t really care for it even if staring at the gold ink that wouldn’t wash the fuck off makes something warm curl in his chest.

Iruka’s smile as he draws it though, now  _ that _ , Tenzou thinks, is all he cares about.

*

The sound of the blender fills the small apartment. Tenzou is forced to get out of bed because of it, even though he was already awake when Iruka grumbled his way out of bed to get ready for the Academy. Iruka says it’s the last day, that he’ll be on active field duty after it.

“What are you making?” Tenzou mutters, watching yellow liquid spin in the blender. There is a bag of frozen pineapple slices on the counter.

“Making my cum sweeter for you. I hear pineapple helps. You know, for the next time I fuck your mouth? Before you cut your hair.” Iruka throws a smile over his shoulder, something sharp in his gaze even though his mouth is curved into something soft. “I’m going to take full advantage!”

Tenzou flushes to the roots of his goddamn hair, helplessly clearing his throat, looking away and shaking his head in amusement as Iruka’s laugh fills the apartment.

He’s not sure how to respond to something like that. Iruka always tastes the sweetest to him, anyway. He didn’t have to try to hard.

*

Tenzou is walking back from the training grounds when something silver and bright catches his eye behind a store’s glass window.

Tenzou stands there, in the middle of the busy street, staring at a finely crafted kazari kanzashi that he thinks is going to make Iruka look like something out of a painting. It’s not gaudy or very eye catching, the flat rounded top boasting three blooming hibiscus blossoms — it’s a discreet accessory, one that can easily be missed, if one doesn’t pay attention.

(Tenzou would love to lower Iruka on the bed, tugging at the hairpin, would love to watch his hair spill down his shoulders and neck as he pulls the pin out. He’d love to take him slow and teasing, take his time, watch him turn to a debauched mess, as his hair spills out from the prim,  proper bun Iruka seems to prefer to wear on special occasions.)

Hibiscus suits Iruka, too — he is, indeed, a rare and delicate beauty. One that’s worth safekeeping.

He’s in the middle of debating whether or not he should go ahead and buy it, have it wrapped in something gaudy and ridiculous, all frills and ribbons that he’s sure ought to amuse Iruka, when Kakashi’s reflection appears in the glass.

“Senpai,” Tenzou greets, turning to look at Kakashi, and pauses at the look he gets. Kakashi’s uncovered eye is dark, a little too focused, too sharp. 

“Busy?” Kakashi asks, shoulders deceptively slouched.

Tenzou looks at the hairpin on display once more, sees Iruka with his hair up vividly, as if he’s standing beyond the glass, silver catching the light in his hair, when Tenzou knows he’s busy wrapping up the close of the Academy day. Tenzou tears his gaze away from that, pushes the image of Iruka out of his mind, before he meets Kakashi’s gaze head on.

“My place is closer.” Tenzou turns, leading the way.

It hurts more than it should. The marks burn deeper, shadows and raised red marks from teeth and nails carving into Tenzou’s flesh. Kakashi pulls his hair, yanks it back, as he pushes into Tenzou’s body with his cock, and grinds into him, harsh, hot breaths searing into the softest parts of Tenzou’s neck. It robs Tenzou of breath, renders him helpless and weak, pleasure blinding as it always is.

Kakashi is ruthless — breaks strands of his hair, uses it like a leash.

Kakashi fucks him again, and again, and again — spreads him raw and wide, tears him apart until Tenzou grinds his teeth down so hard into his fist, he tastes blood on the tip of his tongue, shaking with the pleasure and the searing pain, trembling with one orgasm after another. Kakashi doesn’t let Tenzou go because it’s been too long — way longer than just ten weeks. 

Tenzou allows him.

He takes comfort in the fact that Kakashi stays away from the marks on his neck, that he doesn’t touch the bite mark on his shoulder that’s as bold as red camellias. 

He takes comfort in the fact that by being here now, he hasn’t really abandoned Kakashi.

It eases a guilt Tenzou didn’t even know he carried.

Just as it fuels a second type of guilt — one that is foreign and new.

He doesn’t get to mull over it more, when he comes with fingers around his throat, and his world darkens as he closes his eyes.

*

Tenzou wakes up a little startled, curled on his side and aching pleasantly in all the right places, Kakashi’s presence nowhere in the dark apartment. A glance at the clock has Tenzou cursing loudly and jerking out of bed in a sudden, swift movement, groaning through the sharp pain that sears down the length of his back. 

He is incredibly late for dinner. 

He didn’t mean to fall asleep for too long, had intended to make it to Iruka’s apartment at a decent hour. They were going to make hamburger steak together, something Tenzou doesn’t recall having, something Iruka admits to enjoying as a child. It was  only with hamburger steak that Iruka would even consider eating broccoli and cauliflower, when he normally wouldn’t.

Tenzou was looking forward to tonight’s dinner. The disappointment that he missed it coats his tongue with bitterness; he should have been more vigilant with the time, should have stopped Kakashi after the second round — he should have done  _ something.  _

Tenzou scrubs down, crookedly braids the length of his hair, before he shunshins out of the apartment and right onto Iruka’s doorstep. The door opens mid-knock and Iruka’s worried face dissolves to a smile.

“I’m late,” Tenzou says, the apology hidden under the statement.

“A little.” Iruka holds the door open, light flooding into the dim hallway. 

“Saved some for me?” Tenzou asks, toeing his sandals off and tries to walk straight, trying not to flinch so openly, flicking a glance up at the happy flush on Iruka’s cheeks.

“Of course,” Iruka smiles as Tenzou steps into the living room, not pushing Iruka away when Iruka wraps his arms around his shoulders, leaning up to kiss him. 

The kiss is slow and sensual, unrushed in its heat as Iruka’s warm, soft fingers snake under the hem of Tenzou’s shirt. It’s so easy to drown in the warmth of Iruka’s kiss, so easy to forget about the world beyond the two of them, standing there with no space between them, toes curled into the soft rug. Tenzou’s shirt comes off, their kiss breaking just long enough for them to suck in a soft breath, as Iruka tosses the shirt aside to the couch and leans up for another kiss. 

Tenzou can lose time kissing Iruka, can forget there is an existence beyond this moment, having Iruka in his arms, his warmth on his skin and the taste of his smile on his lips. He forgets all about the difficult ten weeks of useless hell he and his team had to go through. He forgets about the pain in his body, the fatigue that still lingers in his bones as Iruka brushes his palms down the length of his back, his touch always exploratory, marvelling, like it’s the first time Iruka is touching his body. It makes goosebumps break all over the length of Tenzou’s back, and before he realizes it, he can’t stop himself from tensing all of a sudden, a pained hiss and muffled throaty noise dissolving into Iruka’s mouth when Iruka’s fingers turn to fists, digging into the already very tender flesh of Tenzou’s backside.

The reaction is immediate.

Iruka steps back, checking for injuries and suddenly goes very still. 

Under the light of the living room, Iruka stands frozen, an unmoving sentinel, the colour draining from his face. Tenzou realizes why when he sees what Iruka is staring at, brown eyes wide, pupils blown, gaze fixed on Tenzou’s chest and neck. His gaze rakes down the length of Tenzou’s body, taking in the vicious teeth marks Kakashi had left in the wake of his desperation, at the bold black and blue handprints on Tenzou’s hip, colour disappearing down the waistband of his pants. Iruka’s eyes settle on Tenzou’s wrists, both of which remain sore from where Kakashi had twisted his wrists behind his back, held them down as he pounded into his ass. 

“Training?” Iruka asks, his voice coming out all wrong, his lower lip trembling. Tenzou suddenly realizes why. 

Tenzou closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. He didn’t think about the state of his body. Didn’t think about how it may look like to someone like Iruka. He didn’t think beyond wanting to make up for lost time.

He didn’t fucking  _ think. _

(There’s something alarmingly dangerous about that.)

“Iruka —”

Iruka takes a step back, hands coming up in a stay-back gesture. “Please tell me you’re not in a committed relationship. That you didn’t come to me, you haven’t been coming to me, behind your partner’s back.”

Tenzou doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t know whether he should laugh at the idea that Iruka is accusing him of cheating on someone that doesn’t exist or at the fact that he’s even upset about something that doesn’t exist. Tenzou shakes his head, taking a step forward only to come to a stop when he sees the film of salt glistening in the corners of Iruka’s eyes. His stomach plummets to the ground at the sight of it, words seizing up in his throat. Iruka huffs a broken gasp, bringing a hand up to his mouth and turns around. Tenzou doesn’t miss the tears that carve down his cheeks, doesn’t miss how Iruka swipes fingers over his eyes as he gives Tenzou’s his back and continues to shake his head.

“My goodness, I’m that guy.” Iruka shakes his head.

Tenzou has watched enough dramatic television shows to know what conclusion Iruka may be reaching. He surges forward, grabbing Iruka by shoulders, only to have Iruka wrench himself away from his touch like it burns.

It robs him of breath for several heartbeats, the gesture sending a stab of  _ hurt _ , right in the center of Tenzou’s chest.

It’s the kind of hurt that curls inwards, sinking into the deepest parts of his being. His body reacts like it’s been wounded in battle, scrambling with all kinds of defensive reactions, adrenaline suddenly spiking in his veins and paving the way to clarity, fingers curling to a fist, preparing to fight back, defend, escape. 

“Iruka, I would be careful if I were you,” Tenzou warns, slow, measured, trying not to think of the sudden gaping wound in his chest, why something like Iruka flinching away from him so viciously, like he is some kind of unredeemable monster, hurt him. But Iruka isn’t looking at him, is curling into himself as well, shoulders hunched, a visible tremble going down the length of his spine. It hurts, seeing Iruka like this, seeing the arm’s length between them yawn as wide as a dark ravine. Tenzou’s lungs begins to heave, his throat constricting, and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s reaching forward again and turning Iruka around, fingers tight around the curve of Iruka’s shoulders.

Words fail him at the sight of the flush on Iruka’s cheeks, nose and ears, the tears that he keeps blinking away, keeps wiping away viciously, the lock of his jaw, how that beautiful mouth that was curved into a wonderful smile just a minute ago is now pressed to a line so tight, so pale. 

Tenzou’s stomach roils in the sight of this grief.

Grief that Tenzou can understand but can’t figure out  _ why. _

“What would you do if I told you that I was in love with you?” Iruka asks, his brows pinching as his lungs begin to shudder with a breath he can’t seem to catch. 

It had gone on for a little too long. Their arrangement required renegotiating the moment Iruka had started to feel something a little too warm, too soft, butterfly wings fluttering in his stomach. He should have put a stop to it the moment he realised Tenzou was ANBU, the moment he had divulged his identity. Iruka looks at Tenzou and sees how his pupils are blown wide even when everything about him remains composed, placid, barely a wrinkle on his expression. And all Iruka can do is stand hopeless before the wall of a man, mirthlessly amused at himself, as he thinks,  you really know how to pick them, don’t you, Iruka?

“What if I told you that I’ve been in love with you this entire time?” Iruka tilts his head, shrugging a little helplessly. “That I don’t care if you were one of those children — Orochimaru’s human experiments. What if I told you that your body count, your missions, your reputation, your mask, your abilities, your rank, your history — none of that matters to me? What if I told you, that the past few months I’ve spent with you have been the happiest moments of my life?” Iruka swallows thickly, blinking through the ocean blurring the world before him. “You would have left, right?”

Tenzou physically recoils at the words, pushing Iruka away, shock splitting the ocean in half as Iruka looks away, crossing his arms over his abdomen and shaking his head, shaking in the wake of Tenzou’s wide eyed gaze.

Iruka knows he has nothing to lose. Nothing but comfort, warmth, and two syllables of a name that belonged to a man who had easily become a part of his home. It didn’t take much for Iruka’s physical attraction to manifest into a crush and that crush to develop into something more than what he had been prepared for. How sneaky it had been, how Tenzou’s presence had seeped into his skin and the walls of his home and suddenly, everywhere he looked, Tenzou is all Iruka can see.

Tenzou, sitting on his couch, lying on the rug with that pineapple cushion he likes so much under his head, reading one of the books off Iruka’s shelf. Tenzou, flopped lazily and fast asleep on his bed, completely relaxed unlike the first few times he had fallen asleep, when he would lie straight on his back, an arm over his middle, hand curled loosely in a fist, ready to roll over, dodge, strike, or defend at a second’s notice. Tenzou, who sits crossed legged on the couch or the rug, popping roasted walnuts from the fistful he holds, chuckling and huffing in amusement at horrible television shows.

Tenzou who is  _ insane _ for thinking that Iruka is ever meant to be called beautiful, is even deserving of such a word, when Iruka sees an average man at best when he looks at the mirror, nothing quite spectacular. Tenzou who makes him feel like he’s the only thing that matters when he kisses him, when for a moment, Iruka doesn’t feel so alone. 

Iruka could have kept the lie going, turn a blind eye to the sight of passionate wounds, pretend it didn’t cut deeper than it should, pretend that he didn’t care when all he felt the moment he saw the hideous marks was the ground disappearing from under his feet. But the thought of lying and being so dishonest with someone who had been forthcoming about his identity and origin seems so wrong. The thought of lying to Tenzou is enough to make bile churn in Iruka’s gut.

So Iruka doesn’t.

“I wanted to end this. I knew I should have ended it the moment you trusted me with your identity and history. But I couldn’t imagine letting you go then.” Iruka shakes his head, swallowing thickly, recalling all the events that head lead to this very moment. “Not when you trusted me enough with that information. When you revealed who you are, what you are, what mask you wear. When you come home to me in half your uniform, when you’re sick and weak and vulnerable and so exhausted from a mission, you can barely stand. You assist me openly, you kissed me in the fucking street in your  _ uniform, _ and you didn’t even care. You walk in broad daylight, allowing yourself to be seen with me. I couldn’t — how could I not love someone who trusts me like that?” Iruka gestures with a hand at the marks on Tenzou’s body. 

“You want to know the reason why I haven’t settled down yet?” he continues. “It’s because I chose to be alone, because I’m not a good judge of character when it comes to people I fall in love with. The last man I was with for  _ years _ betrayed not only me on countless occasions, but Konoha, as well. He would come home, looking very much like this and I did nothing because losing him meant losing the only thing I had for myself beyond duty. You are the first person I’ve been with long enough than a roll or two in the sheets. I can’t pretend to look at you and think that you mean nothing more to me than a convenient fuck. I can’t pretend that you’re just a stranger to me. You haven’t been for a very long time.”

“You can’t fall in love with a nobody,” Tenzou says carefully, and watches the saddest smile tug up at Iruka’s lips, watches how his expression crumples, turns him to something so broken. He’s never seen one like it before, how it changes Iruka’s entire face, reminds Tenzou of how he had looked like the first time he laid eyes on Iruka, when something dark and heavy had weighed him down, when his frame had been narrower and there had been a visible ache in his eyes that with time, Tenzou realises, has actually vanished.

“But I did,” Iruka’s words are so soft, barely a whisper. “You’re not a nobody to  _ me _ , Tenzou.”

Then it hits Tenzou right between the eyes — the soft looks, the reverence in them, the way Iruka would press his lips to his jaw in the morning and every single time he had stayed over, or right before they fall asleep, the little phrases like I’m so happy to see you, or ah, I’m better now that you’re here, or I don’t like seeing you hurt, or I care about you, or you’re the only one who can ever satisfy me and fulfill my every need. I need you. I’ve missed you. Welcome back. Come back safe. Fight strong.

They all echo in Tenzou’s head. 

(Those words had kept him warm, alive,  _ focused _ when everything else around him had drowned in the dark and spun  into chaos.)

The silence that falls between them is suddenly choking, just as the warmth spreading in Tenzou’s chest suddenly feels too much like a fatal fever that for a moment, he thinks his lungs might be seizing, or failing, or just not working right.

Tenzou isn’t the kind to shy away from an open dialogue, but this time, the words, the way Iruka can’t look him the eye, makes him drop his gaze to the weave of the rug under his feet.

Logic and calculated reason points to the clear fact that they shouldn't even be having this conversation, that this entire thing is a mutual agreement between adults, one that Iruka himself had offered, that things like bringing happiness and the telltale signs of affection that runs a little too deep had no place in their arrangement, even when Tenzou can’t ever step away from it, needs it like he needs air. 

Tenzou knows he had asked for his discretion, had asked that so long as he keeps coming to Iruka, it’s probably wise that Iruka didn’t bring partners home. Tenzou had wanted to avoid sudden knocks and a lingering presence that may pop up, or worse, jealous streaks from former lovers. That didn’t mean that Iruka couldn’t go out and have his fun elsewhere.

A small part of him, however,  _ snarls _ at the thought of that, makes his fingers tighten around curve of Iruka’s shoulders, bruisingly so, as he imagines Iruka’s mouth on someone else, pictures Iruka’s fingers carding through silver hair, a three syllable name falling from that beautiful mouth and his breath stolen by the one person he had been worried he’d lose Iruka to. Tenzou finds himself surprised as the dots connect, smothering the growl that wants to rip past his throat, closing his eyes as he sucks one deep breath after the other. He can’t understand it, can’t bring order to how his mind is scattering in all directions with wild thoughts, when just over ten weeks ago, he had been able to imagine Iruka coming home to a family, could imagine Iruka being with anyone and everyone else. 

(And then suddenly, he couldn’t. Suddenly, commitment didn’t sound terrible if it meant holding Iruka in his arms for as long as he’s alive, coming home to him.)

You’re the only one who can ever satisfy me and fulfill my every need, Iruka had said, one time. 

Tenzou wants to shake him, wants to tell him to stop saying things that turn his inside into a fiery storm, a swirl of uncontrollable elements that leaves his knees soft, his fingers weak and devoid of feeling, unable to grasp onto anything, even when Iruka flinches, holds so very still, knuckles tight. Tenzou can feel it, how Iruka wants to just wrench himself free from him. He watches, jaw grinding, struggling to think, form something coherent to address this fucking matter, inhaling with a hiss through teeth, as Iruka just stands there helplessly, looking at him with love and heartbreak, defeated and suddenly so small, the brightness of the smile tugging on his lips dulled to something ugly. Tenzou’s never seen one like it before; it changes Iruka’s entire face, reminds Tenzou of how he had looked like the first time he laid eyes on Iruka, when something dark and heavy had weighed him down, when his frame had been narrower and there had been a visible ache in his eyes that with time, Tenzou realises, has actually vanished.

Tenzou suddenly feels like he’s drowning in the depths of the ocean in Iruka’s eyes, sinking far too fast and unable to swim to the surface. 

(Because the funny and not-so-sudden truth is that Iruka is  _ everything _ Tenzou wants, and everything he didn’t even know he needed.)

Tenzou doesn’t enjoy doubting himself, but now that his mind is racing through the past several months, picking on every word, every detail, every moment he had spent in Iruka’s company, he suddenly wonders if Iruka was ever an itch to scratch at all. 

He’s been seeing him for two seasons — the flavor of the season suddenly falls flat for an excuse to fuck someone.

Tenzou suddenly doesn’t know what the fuck to do with this. He doesn’t even know how to swallow the revelation pill that he suddenly has a mouthful of. He can’t even begin to comprehend how he’d not seen this coming, how he didn’t even  _ notice _ when the signs had been popping up left and right like fucking daisies.

Doesn’t understand how this all happened. 

How he allowed it to happen.

Tenzou can’t believe how blind he had been. 

It’s suddenly too much, too soon, too fast — everything swirling in an uncontrolled panic under his rib cage as he tries to scramble for some sort of buoy in the stormy sea of emotion he has no fucking clue how to even swallow — angry and happy, pleased and content, irritated that Iruka is putting distance between them but then also relieved that he is. He’s being pulled from two opposite side, tearing at the center.

“This shouldn’t bother you. This shouldn’t mean anything to you,” Tenzou says, clear and concise once he sucks in a measured breath, approaching the matter on hand in the only way he knows how. He bridges the distance between them, holding Iruka firmly in place by the shoulders, standing so close that he can almost feel the heat of the tears gathering at the corners of Iruka’s eyes. He looks at Iruka’s face, studies the movement pattern of his eyes, watches how his lips remain parted as he sucks in a breath, how the tension lining the length of his spine makes him fist both his hands, like he’s fighting something no one can see.

“I’m not that strong, Tenzou.” Iruka brings his hands up, curling carefully over Tenzou’s forearms and tugs them away from him. “Not anymore. Forgive me.” Tenzou is powerless when Iruka steps away from him, turns to pick up his shirt from the floor, trembling fingers pushing the wad of fabric into Tenzou’s hands. “You need to go.”

“Iruka —” Tenzou hears his own voice crack, and walks back when Iruka pushes him towards the genkan, shaking his head.

“Now we’re even. You know what I try to hide the most. I know who and what you are. This is goodbye.” Iruka smiles a little. It’s nothing but a rusted reflection of its true brilliance.

Something in Tenzou’s throat clenches, icy cold fingers wrapping around his lungs, as the goodbye immediately starts to form at the tip of his tongue. This arrangement was bound to end, he had known that from the beginning, even if he had gotten a little too comfortable with it. He just didn’t think Iruka would fall in love. That the knowledge of it would make something in Tenzou’s chest swell as large and full as a hot air balloon and somehow also crumple like chakra paper incinerating and turning to ash, burned away because love has no place in ANBU. Tenzou has seen what love can do to people.

Kakashi is a good example.

(He didn’t want to be like Kakashi. He didn’t want to ever feel broken, to be so helpless and out of control.)

And while the knowledge of Iruka’s love makes his heart race, while the idea that someone as honest and  _ good _ as Iruka can even love him, that it feels right and where he should belong, everything in Tenzou doesn’t want to gamble with it. Doesn’t want to risk it.

The decision to leave forms. He needs to get the fuck out of this, out of here, go somewhere quiet where he can  _ think _ properly, away from the sight of Iruka’s shattering heart that he hadn’t meant to break. 

He never meant to hurt Iruka.

He would never, ever want to hurt Iruka.

“Take care of yourself, okay?” Iruka takes a step away from the genkan, putting more distance between himself and Tenzou. “I hope that you always come back safe, that whatever enemy or challenge you may face, that you are always fighting strong, that you always win.” The words come out strangled, a wish and a prayer all at once.

There’s something ugly in Tenzou’s chest. Roaring and loud, a wounded beast that bangs against the cage of his ribs, and Tenzou is powerless as he stares as Iruka brings a hand up to brush the salt away from his eyes, watches him clear his throat, composing himself, standing straighter, like he’s seeing a guest off. It’s all so formal, so false, all orchestrated social decorum. The ugly and possessive thing snarls, howls desperately, teeth gnashing and claws grappling forward. It makes Tenzou’s feet uncaringly cross the space between them, tugging Iruka close for one, long, last embrace, lips pressing on Iruka’s temple in a lingering kiss, his face crumpling into something ugly, angry, uncertain, fucking vulnerable like a fatal wound. 

The small strangled sound that leaves Iruka’s mouth almost fucks Tenzou’s resolve to leave, crumbles what resistance he had to the idea of staying, to the idea of picturing a future with someone so fucking beautiful, so unbelievably big hearted, kind and warm — that even if Tenzou knows he can keep this, if he reveals the dark truth of ANBU to Iruka, if he lists him as his first point of contact, fills out all his forms with Iruka’s name, Iruka will still remain safe. There is no one out there who knows who Cat is, not his face behind the white mask, his alleged name, his history. He isn’t like Kakashi that way. To a degree, the probability that his lover would be safe and not made a target is quite high.

He shouldn’t be considering it.

He shouldn’t even be hesitating in a decision that can easily be made if he just snipped the wire keeping him in place. He had training for that. Danzou had taught him well, so it shouldn’t be difficult.

The fact that he’s even prolonging this, that Tenzou hadn't just up and left the moment the truthful confession had spilled from Iruka’s mouth, is hint enough that his decision making ability is severely compromised. 

(This is dangerous. Being like this can get you killed in the field. A miscalculation like this can not only cost you your teammates, but your mission as well.)

Tenzou tears himself away from Iruka like he’s been burned, and shunshins the fuck out of that apartment.

He doesn’t dare look back. 

He doesn’t plan on going back.

*

Iruka doesn’t regret telling Tenzou. Doesn’t regret telling him the truth, when he should have weeks ago. 

Iruka looks around the apartment that suddenly feels so empty with Tenzou gone. Tenzou’s uniform and t-shirt lays folded over the corner table, his warmth fading from the sheets, his scent clinging to the blanket and pillows. Iruka knows that lying to Tenzou would have been worse. That the shocked look on Tenzou’s face made it worth it, because they live in a world of lies and deception and Iruka didn’t want any of that within the walls of his home. Not again, not ever.

Iruka doesn’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt. Iruka doesn’t pretend that the idea of Tenzou not coming back affects him. Iruka refuses to do what he did years ago with Mizuki, when he turned a blind eye to himself, when he cared little for himself, and worst of all, when he had not been honest with himself.

So he doesn’t resist the tears, doesn’t resist the sudden gaping loss he feels in his chest, doesn’t pretend that Tenzou’s sudden departure leaves him ugly and knotted, something Iruka doesn’t bother to smooth away and instead, allows the emotion to wash over him, lets it all out as he muffles the small sounds in his throat with a hand firmly clamped over his mouth.

Iruka takes the time to get it out of him, takes a moment to feel alone and weak, to mourn his crushed hope so that he can pick himself up after and move on — he has to.  And by the time the sun begins to rise, Iruka dresses and heads to the mission room.

The timing probably couldn’t have been better.

Iruka has the rest of his summer time off the Academy to be field active. It’ll make the time pass quicker. 

It’ll hopefully, also dull the ache in his chest and maybe one day, he’ll forget about Tenzou and it’ll all be nothing more than fond memory of a time where he had the best sex of his life and nothing more.

*

Tenzou doesn’t like breaking protocol, doesn’t like bending the rules just because he can’t get his shit together. 

But he heads to the ANBU headquarters the next afternoon, gets himself cleared by the medical division, and reinstated on active field duty. He never insists on an assignment, especially after a ten week long mission; he doesn’t appreciate the long pause the Godaime gives him when he hands her his fit-for-duty slip.

“Godaime-sama, if you have something that requires immediate attention…” Tenzou offers from behind the mask, standing rigid in his equally stiff new uniform. 

He had pulled on his older one half-way, inhaled the faint scent of Iruka’s preferred laundry detergent and forgot himself for a moment. It was like being engulfed in a genjutsu, his bleak apartment dissolving into the small, homey space of Iruka’s living room, the smell of clean laundry, and the faint traces of orange and cinnamon filling his lungs. It felt like his ribs were cracking in half, one by one, as he stood there losing himself in things he shouldn’t be. Tenzou has never yanked his uniform off so fast.

(It gets on his nerves, fuels an anger he didn’t know how to handle, when he feels that hurt. He shouldn’t be hurt. There’s  _ no _ reason to be hurt.)

Tsunade sighs and picks up a scroll, sliding it across the desk.

Tenzou unfurls the scroll, looks at the mission parameters that’s going to take him all the way to Rain and hopes that the intel is correct this time, that this information extraction assignment won’t result in another tug of war with other villages. He should be grateful, that at least it isn’t prison.

It’ll take him at least two weeks to complete, if all goes well.

He thanks Tsunade, shunshins himself back to his apartment that makes him feel like a stranger standing in a home that doesn’t belong to him. Something about the dull sight of it, how his world is about as bleak as the black of his uniform and the white of his mask sends a stab of something traitorously bitter and sad up his gut.

It fuels the anger in him too, the heat simmering under his skin, an utterly unwelcomed distraction.

He doesn’t spend more than a few minutes to do inventory, before he’s cutting across the village and leaving Konoha’s gates behind.

*

Tenzou doesn't pause in his run, trying to push the clawing feeling in his chest away, trying to erase the picture of Iruka’s face from behind his eyelids, the warmth of his dimpled smile and the idea that someone like Iruka can love him, that Iruka would welcome him into his arms, his bed, his home; that he’d continue to laugh in Tenzou’s presence, share meals with him, kiss him goodnight and good morning, respond to Tenzou’s I’m back with a welcome back for the rest of his life because love is meant to be forever, isn’t it? Or however long forever can last for men like him? 

Tenzou lands a little sharply on a branch, coming to a halting stop before a stretch of a quiet lake, his breath coming out in heavy pants behind his mask, too loud for a man who is meant to be quiet. Too obvious for a man who isn’t supposed to exist.

Tenzou hates feeling this way, hates not having any ground under his feet.

He hated thinking of impossible things because thinking of impossible and improbable things was what he did when he was little, when he would wait for anyone to come down the darkened hallway, anyone to let him out of his tank, anyone to say something, to show their face when waking up to bitter fluid and a breathing tube down his lungs had him thrashing and scared and feeling so alone. They were brief moments, but even years later, Tenzou remembers how he had suffocated, how scared he had been, always waking up in the dark, how helpless he had been watching the other children die, one by one. 

(He remembers not wanting to be alone. He remembers not wanting to die alone.)

He hated feeling helpless, feeling like he’s suspended in liquid, when the easiest, most obvious solution is to knock on Iruka’s door, commit to a relationship and call it a day.  When Tenzou understands that Iruka isn’t just an itch anymore, not when the clear termination of their arrangement has left him feeling almost purposeless, a true shell of a man fit for genocide and murder. 

(Or maybe he’s always known. Maybe he’s the one making excuses this entire time, justifying the fact that he must stay loyal to a system because his loyalty was just a reimbursement for his feeling of inferiority. 

That being with Iruka made him feel like he belonged to something m ore than just his mission, more than just his mask and codename.)

He can’t afford to keep thinking about Iruka in the middle of an assignment. 

But try as he might, even as Fire’s borders looms in the distance, he can’t get Iruka out of his mind.

Tenzou doubts he ever can.

*

Sleep, Iruka knows, is not on good terms with a broken heart. 

Iruka knows better than to go home at this time to be alone with his thoughts. Knows better than to attempt to sleep the ache off. 

The C-rank intel pick up at Tanzaku had ended quicker than usual and without much of a hitch that a little before sunset, Iruka has already written his report and handed it in, his next mission for tomorrow already tucked into his utility belt. If all goes well, he’d probably be part of a team in the coming days, take on a B-rank or an A-rank, whichever the Hokage deems fit.

So he grabs an early dinner and indulges in a few drinks that leaves him tipsy. It doesn’t numb the hollow feeling in his chest, but it does paint the world in a temporary cheery glow, his head a touch heady. He takes the long road home, ambling around the village with a silly smile that is far too bright dancing on his lips, taking the road by the river and cutting through the edge of the park where it is always quiet. It’s where he stops for a while as the orange red glow around Konoha takes on a grayer tinge, just as a deceptively cool summer breeze blows. 

The rain pours like a tap being opened, starting with a soft pitter-patter before falling mercilessly in thick sheets from the skies. Iruka doesn’t try to dodge it, getting wet in the process. It probably would have been easier to handle things if the Academy was in full session; being around the children is probably the only rewarding reminder as to why he even bothers to get up in the morning most days. 

Tenzou never had good timing, not with his sporadic visits, or his truth bombs. Iruka doesn’t like to think on who the other person might be, if they would feel about as worthless as he did, every time he saw the signs of unfaithfulness. If they would tolerate it the way he did, sitting in silence for years. If they would taste the bitterness at the back of their throat every time Tenzou pulls his shirt off, reveals marks that aren’t theirs. Would they kiss over it, would they touch it, or would they close their eyes and get on all fours, turn their backs on the man they love and stare at the sheets, or maybe the window, and remind themselves that Tenzou is worth keeping, no matter how small, how little, or many pieces of him they have to share? Iruka thinks he probably would have tolerated it, if he really wanted to. 

The vivid image of those marks on Tenzou’s body flashes before his eyes again, clear and crisp, like he had only seen it minutes ago. 

Disgust fills him, white hot and bitter, as Iruka closes his eyes and stops in the middle of the busy road, soaking wet, heart in his chest, a hand coming up to his neck where the last of Tenzou’s fading bite mark, the one that had bruised the darkest still lingers. The ache that pulses from it, the longing that seeps into his flesh like an infection makes Iruka grit his teeth and turn the other way, stomping with purpose towards the familiar doors of a bar where this entire fucking mess had started.

This time he’ll be smarter.

This time, he won’t be taking the same partner home twice.

(He wouldn’t have shared Tenzou. He doesn’t like sharing what’s his.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHECK OUT THIS LOVELY ILLUSTRATION OF A SCENE IN CH 11 BY **["HITANTENSHI! OMG YOU GUYS IT IS SO CUTE! HITANCHAN IS A GREAT ARTIST! LOOK AROUND! POKE AROUND! STALK PLS!](http://hitantenshidraws.tumblr.com/post/175560602484/panel-flow-is-r-l-emotional-yamairu-noises)**
> 
> Note: Updates will not be as frequent but will genuinely try to keep at as weekly as possible. 
> 
> Thank you for reading -- let me know what you think! Feel free to shout/yell at tumblr @pinkcatharsis | discord: pandashi#7565 | gtalk: shishichan


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self beta'd.

Tenzou encounters resistance after he extracts the information he needs in the shape of two Rain ANBU.

They’re young, new to the mask it seems, a little too open in their communication with each other, a hotheaded pair. They’re hardly a challenge.

He figures out what they are when he kills one of them, plunging his sword deep into her chest when the anguished cry echoes louder than the rush of the flowing river.

It’s easy to kill someone emotional, easy to neutralize the mad and uncalculated strikes. Tenzou watches the second ANBU go down with no pity when he yanks his sword back from the cracked armor, watching blood and pieces of flesh cling to the blade. He looks down at the man, watches him twitch and turn his head to the the other fallen ANBU, watches his fingers tremble  and reach out for the body that is several meters away, as his lungs fail and he begins to suffocate in his own blood.

Tenzou knows it’s his queue to leave, that at most, the man had about thirty seconds before the light fades from his eyes completely. A sobbing, wet, pathetic noise tears past his throat and Tenzou reaches forward to pull the mask off, watches how the man’s wide eyed tearful gaze is trained on the woman’s unmoving body.

Tenzou sighs tiredly at this display of utter nonsense, this poor behavior for someone within ANBU’s ranks. He tosses the mask aside and picks up the man by the sleeve of his vest, holding him up in his arms as he gets blood all over the white of his armor. Tenzou lowers the choking man next to the woman, watches as the man comes up with strength to hold the woman’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Tenzou watches with something suddenly twisting in his chest, as the man closes his eyes and the last of his tears slide down his cheeks, his chest finally stilling as he takes his last and final breath.

Lovers.

That’s what they are.

The sad and broken sight of them, lying side by side, blood seeping into the earth, sends a stab of something bitter up Tenzou’s throat, makes a tremble go through the length of his arms as his stomach suddenly churns and the world around him dulls to an alarming hush.

Tenzou puts his hands together, presses his palms to the earth and buries their bodies as deep as he can in the ground, and in their place, he plants an entire forest of honeysuckle trees— as large as he can manage, as far as it can stretch, pushing all of his strength and chakra out as something small and soft in him screams. 

But the forest does nothing to still the quake in his hands, does nothing to wash down the rawness that remains wedged in Tenzou’s throat. Tenzou stumbles back under the towering canopies of green leaves dotted with yellow and white blossoms, staring at his handiwork that symbolizes bonds of affection and devoted love and suddenly he feels sick, feels bile come up to his throat as he brings the back of his hand up to his mouth upon reflex and sucks in loud and heavy breaths from behind the mask, pushing the need to suddenly vomit down, down, down.

Love had no place in ANBU. Love makes you lose your mind and forget how to fight, makes you scream and cry in the face of your enemy. Love may mean that you don’t die alone, that you have a hand a hold as you take your last breath, but what good is love to your village when you’re fucking dead?

It takes too long of a moment  for him to gather his wit.

A moment that he should  _ never _ have needed. 

It takes hours for the nausea to recede.

*

Tenzou arrives seventeen days later in the afternoon, numb and dazed as he hands in the information to Tsunade and politely exits her office. He files his report, collects his briefing and goes back to his apartment. He goes through the motions of his old routine like clockwork — clean up, dress the minor cuts, air the apartment out, change the sheets. He procures a meal from the convenience store around the corner, eats in silence in front the television, and then picks up the briefing and begins to read through over tweeks worth of information

It isn’t until he’s half way done that he discovers that there had been numerous Sound nins captured by Bear, Viper and Monkey’s unit, that Konoha’s shinobi are being picked on for no reason the Torture and Interrogation team can find yet, other than that they were orders issued by Sound and that most of the captured shinobi showed signs for enhanced abilities and traces of animal DNA in their bodies bourne from experimentation.

Tenzou reads through the casualties of the skirmishes, notes a few deaths and loss from ANBU’s side until he reaches one report that had just been filed in earlier that morning. Tenzou blinks and reads the names over and over again, and when the name doesn’t vanish, something in him begins to scream, loud, curdling, wounded and hurt as his lips part and shake and a strangled noise rips past his throat and he’s suddenly clamping a palm over his mouth, to silence himself.

Umino Iruka is listed as a casualty.

Tenzou knows that the information is only provided to him only because Viper’s team had responded to Iruka’s team distress call upon entry to Konoha’s borders, that they had brought in the shinobi responsible for the attack for questioning. He only knows this because there are countermeasures being put in place, tightening of security and increased patrols not only within Konoha’s borders, but expanding beyond. Undercover proposals from the Torture and Interrogation had been made to plant spies in Sound in order to gather more information and stop the meaningless attack on Konoha’s shinobi. Tenzou had a transcript of the discussion Tsunade had with all of her ANBU, Ibiki and Inoichi; a team was already dispatched to Sound a few days ago. 

Iruka should have never been a casualty. He didn’t deserve to just be a victim of a purposeless skirmish. The thought that Iruka’s life would be wasted over something pointless sends a hot stab of fury through Tenzou’s chest, makes him grip the copy of his briefing, crumpling it’s edges as he reads the rest of the report and incinerates his copy.

Iruka is hurt.

And there’s not a fucking thing he can say or do.

*

The gold star on the back of Tenzou’s hands eventually fade.

He pretends that it doesn’t hurt him, by the time he washes the last of the stubborn gold ink. 

He pretends that the sight of it, all this time, didn’t bring him any comfort. 

*

Tenzou left not because he didn't think he felt anything for Iruka.

It was because he  _ did _ .

*

Iruka remembers running like his life depends on it. 

He remembers the ground opening up under him, remembers seeing the falling trees criss-cross like barricades blocking his path. Iruka remembers tasting ash in his mouth, remembers how his left lung begins to fail and collapse from the gaping wound in his chest, remembers the weight of his team captain on his back as he crosses Konoha’s borders. He remembers sending the distress signal, remembers running north with the team of four Sound jounin hot on his heels.

He remembers seeing the line of explosive tags ahead of him, remembers thinking that he’s running into a trap. He remembers skidding over a branch and leaping backwards and sideways, just as the tags begin to glow like burning embers.

And for one blinding moment, when the world around him explodes into a sea of white, Iruka remembers flying, remembers seeing a sea of green cedar trees being swallowed under a ball of orange, painting the world around him in fire and ash.

The sky had been so blue that day.

Iruka remembers falling, remembers holding on to his team captain, remembers feeling so afraid and so determined to make it to gates as they plummet into soot and fire. It’s his first team mission that year; he didn’t want to die like this.

And then he’s gasping awake, loud and sudden as his survival instincts flare and he’s suddenly not staring at a burning forest, with smoke painting the skies gray, but at white ceiling panels and blinding halogen lights. There are no sounds of the forest cracklings as they burn, or trees collapsing. There is only the soft hiss of airflow from the misting breathing mask over his nose and mouth, the faint beeps of a heart rate monitor, something obnoxiously loud and crunching and what sounds like a cheesy dialogue exchange coming out of an old television.

Iruka turns and finds he’s on his back on a hospital bed, his head suddenly  _ throbbing _ with a headache, and right there, on the bed next to his, is Raidou, his team captain, conscious, sitting propped against the pillows looking a little beaten, half his face swollen, a little pale around the edges, bandages thick around his torso but otherwise very much alive. 

Raidou is also holding a bag of potato chips and regarding him with a quiet expression. “I owe you one,” he says, gratitude brightening his dark and usually quiet gaze, before he shakes the bag of potato chips in his hand in silent offering. “Chips?

Iruka sits up from his bed, pulling the breathing mask off and winces, cradling his side and arm, every inch of him hurting and sore. He notices then that Izumo and Kotetsu are sitting on chairs against the wall, in hospital gowns with bandages peeking from the neckline. Iruka remembers them running ahead of them, an attempt to distract the team of jounins. They had managed to incapacitate one before their team got separated.

Genma is also lounging by the foot of Raidou’s bed, legs propped up and crossed at the ankles, fully dressed in his uniform, presence well within visiting hours. They all had bags of potato chips in their hands, all of their jaws moving as they chewed and regard him with quiet concern and relief. 

Iruka can’t stop the relieved quake that rocks through his frame as he sits a little straighter, the tension draining out of his body — his team is alive, his captain is alive, they all made it back home. It’s his first team mission in years. He’s been mostly doing solo missions for as long as he can remember, has been doing them almost everyday for the past two weeks. He had not expected it to go south; Iruka can’t stop the slight waver in his voice when he says, a little too breathlessly, “P-Ponzu flavor?”

Genma stands and takes out a bright yellow packet from a convenience store bag by the foot of Raidou’s bed, opening it and placing the bag between Iruka’s legs on top of the blanket. “I still remember your favorite~” He sing songs, senbon needle bobbing between his teeth as he drags the IV stand closer to the bed and pours Iruka glass of water. “Just like old times, huh? You know what this means, right?”

Iruka has served under several jounin commanders during his field active days. Out of all them, he’s only managed to foster close friendship with Raidou and Genma. Watching Gemma’s eyebrows waggle suggestively, senbon bobbing, reminds Iruka sends a wave of warm nostalgia in his chest.

Kotetsu suddenly snorts. And that triggers a round of laughter that has Iruka choking into his cup of water with amusement, cheeks dimpling and flushing as a grin splits his face.

Iruka is reminded just how much he misses being part of a team like this.

*

They don’t talk about the mission until the next day after Iruka and Raidou wakes up from their second round of tissue regeneration. Iruka wakes up before Raidou, the wound on his chest now nothing but a smooth scar had apparently been so severe that they had to stagger the healing sessions. He would feel shortness of breath for a few days but otherwise, Iruka gets a clean bill of health, with clearance to return to the field in four days.

Iruka will make do with full shifts at the mission desk, and offer assistance to the administration office —  there’s a backlog at the Hokage’s office and he remembers overhearing them seeking volunteers.

Iruka knows he got off easy, that their injuries could have been worse. 

“If you ask me, I’m honestly just glad that the attack happened after we dropped off the construction contractors in Tanzaku,” Izumo says, shrugging. “No way any of us would be in this shape if we had to watch a party of ten civilians and their caravans. Not without severe casualty or loss of some form.”

“They weren’t human,” Raidou flicks a glance over at Genma. “Just like that time after the Chuunin Exams.”

“Ah…” Genma clicks his tongue, something darkening in his gaze. “You’re lucky ANBU was around, then. They increased patrols last week.” He turns to look at Raidou. “Your team wasn’t the only one who got attacked. Aoba’s team barely made it last week. There had been several others.” 

Iruka looks up at that and says nothing; Kotetsu picks up on his silence and wraps an arm around his shoulder. “And you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet. It’s been a while since your last team mission, ne?”

“I’m just glad we made it back,” Iruka says softly, rubbing the edge of his scar with a finger.

“I’m honestly disappointed,” Genma  _ sighs _ , a little too dramatically. Iruka knows that something silly is about to leave his mouth. “I was hoping to see the super secret jounin lover bring you flowers, Iruka-sensei~” 

Iruka turns sharply at Kotetsu, glaring at the title, cheeks flushing. 

Kotetsu holds his hand up, defensively. “Hey, hey, if you must know,  _ he _ coined that term! It wasn’t me!”

“There is  _ no _ lover. There won’t be. Stop spreading that garbage!” Iruka gripes, unimpressed and just a little bitter. Tenzou’s face flashes for a moment, so wonderfully handsome, and Iruka swallows a little too thickly; he hopes none of his friends notice his sudden discomfort, how the ache comes slamming back all the way in, when he has been trying to pretend it didn’t matter, that it didn’t hurt, that he didn’t care anymore. They can be incredibly perceptive if they choose to pull their heads out of their asses.

“Does that mean you’re in the market? You’ll finally consider my proposal? Threesomes are fun, Iruka~” Genma’s tone is incredibly lilting, and it does nothing to help Iruka’s sudden embarrassment, especially when Raidou is standing right there. 

“Raidou-san, please control your wild lover and his inappropriate mouth.” Iruka says, pretending he didn’t just hear Kotetsu and Izumo snort behind their hands.

Raidou doesn’t say anything, but the cocked brow he directs at Iruka, the amused, lopsided smirk tugging at the corners of his lip makes Iruka throw his hands up in the air in surrender. Iruka knows that Raidou isn’t taking his request seriously. He watches, with a bit of mute shock, as the ever so stoic Namiashi Raidou ducks his head and visibly tries to smother his amused chuckles.

“I can’t believe you people. You’re worse than the pre-teens I get saddled with at the Academy,” Iruka says, partially amused, partially irritated. “You even got Raidou-san involved!”

“Well, Aoba did offer a few suggestions as to whom it may be, come to think of it,” Genma offers, crossing his arms in thought.

“Unbelievable!” Iruka squawks.

“You know, if you would just tell us who you’ve been seeing…” Izumo offers in a sing-song.

Iruka stands, flinching at the tingling sensation flaring in his chest and  _ huffs _ , making his way towards the door, as the flush takes on an exasperated irritated tinge, washing away the embarrassment _.  _ “If the four of you are not hungry and not quite finished fishing for information that I’ve repeatedly told you, doesn’t exist, then I will see you at Haru’s. Genma-san, you’re paying for my food and drinks.”

“What!” Genma squawks and that earns him a good round of laughter.

Serves him right.

*   
  
The small entrance to Haru’s izakaya lies huddled despondent amongst newly erected structures, a street away from Tea Avenue, a little washed in the overcast summer sky. Bustling citizens would walk by it, easily missing it if one isn’t paying attention. It’s a popular place that’s been around for a long time one of the few structures that survived the Kyuubi’s attack all those years ago. Iruka remembers coming here as a teenager during their generous happy hour, remembers wide smiles and dancing green eyes, lips on his neck and the clinks of beer bottles under the warm interior and narrow tables. Haru hasn’t changed much over the years, the interior remaining as welcoming as the red paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, the dotted golden lights running along the walls and the wonderful smell of food that is as close as to one can manage to a home cooked meal. 

It isn’t as busy when Iruka steps past the threshold, waving at the old man Daiji who tells him that he just made it to happy hour. Iruka goes ahead and orders two buckets of the local craft beer and the usual appetisers he knows his friends would favor. He is already nursing an ice cold bottle when the rest of his friends joins him at the table. 

Iruka is grateful for this moment, grateful that he is surrounded by friends who mitigates the pain of loss that still sits as sharp as icy peaks in Iruka’s chest. These moments are the silver lining in the clouds, where he listens to Kotetsu poke fun at Izumo, Raidou smirking down at his beer and Genma laughing at lewd jokes rolling past Kotetsu’s mouth. Iruka sits there with a grateful and soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips, letting the sadness wash away for a moment, sneakily picking at the bowl of edamame that doesn’t belong to him, chuckling into a fist as he listens to story after story being narrated.

Tenzou fades in the background for a moment, his warmth but a distant memory.

Iruka almost convinces himself that he’s okay, that he hasn’t been hogging as many solo C-rank missions the past two weeks. That if he closes his eyes, he can pretend that he hasn’t been sleeping all that well, that he doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night turning to seek out Tenzou’s warmth. That he doesn’t spend the last few hours to sunrise staring at the growing pot of crimson daisies on his nightstand. 

It is long after dinner, sometime around Iruka’s third bottle of beer, that Genma perks from the table and raises a hand in greeting to a familiar face. It is so sudden that the conversation momentarily halts. 

“Oi, Kakashi!” Genma calls out, standing up from his chair.

Iruka purposely keeps his gaze down, shrinks in on himself as his cheeks  _ burns _ with a sudden sweep of embarrassment. It isn’t so long ago that he had made a fool out of himself in front Konoha’s respected elite. Iruka doesn’t know  _ how _ he propositioned Kakashi that night, still can’t recall the words he used; he’s sure that it would have been nothing short of shameless, if not outright dirty. 

Kakashi joins them at the table, clapping a hand on Genma’s back in greeting. “Yo!” He greets, nodding at the rest of the table. 

Iruka meets Kakashi’s gaze for a moment, offering a smile and a polite greeting in return, the heat on his cheeks refusing to fade as he remembers the last conversation they had. He’s only ever seen Kakashi from a distance, thankfully not running into him as much and if he does, they’re usually such brief encounters and not long enough to count. Iruka tucks back into beer, listening to Genma and Kakashi stand up for the bar.

The silence on the table should have been his clue.

Iruka looks up to see realization dawning in Kotetsu’s eyes, sees him open his mouth as he points at Iruka, face darting between Iruka and Kakashi, standing no more than five feet away at the bar counter.

“It’s him!” Kotetsu  _ exclaims _ , a gleam in his eye. “The super secret jounin lover is Kaka —”

Iruka’s hand clamps up to Kotetsu’s mouth so fast, that he knocks a few empty bottles and plates with a very audible clatter. “Shut your trash mouth! It’s not Kakashi!” Iruka swallows and realizes how loud his voice must have been and doesn’t dare look over his shoulder. Instead, he sighs, ducks his head, a palm coming up to his face that he swipes down rather viciously in embarrassment. 

“He’s looking, though,” Izumo mutters.

“I don’t care!” Iruka hisses, the heat on his cheeks intensifying. “Drink your beer and stop looking! It’s rude! Leave him alone! And maybe I can pretend we’re not a bunch of Academy pre-teens gossiping about the cool, handsome, popular kid.”

“So you think he’s cool and handsome~” Kotetsu points out, holding a finger up. 

“So does a good number of other shinobi and civilians.” Raidou shrugs, waving a server over to replenish their beer bucket. Raidou turns to look at Iruka, something serious in his gaze. “I’ve known you for years, Iruka. You can do better. You deserve better.” 

It’s a warning and advice all wrapped up in a simple phrase. Coming from Raidou, it’s probably worth listening to. Even if it’s absolutely unwarranted.

Iruka presses the cool beer bottle to his temple, closing his eyes, unable to comprehend why his friends won’t just let this issue go. Did he exume that much of a pitiful and lonely aura? He’d like to think he didn’t. Iruka thinks he leads a rather fulfilling career, even if he comes home to a small, empty, cluttered studio. “I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I’m not even drunk enough to have this conversation. Explain to me again why we are having this conversation?”

Raidou hums, throwing a sharp look that promptly silences whatever wisecrack Kotetsu may have had forming at the tip of his tongue. “You haven’t been yourself for a while.”

“It’s not like I’m lying. I’m not with anyone.” Iruka says, and swallows thickly, tugging the plate of roasted peanuts towards him. “Anymore. Or in any way that matters.”

Iruka can’t tell them how the super secret lover they keep insisting on happens to be an active ANBU, that he’s one of the children Orochimaru had experimented on. He can’t tell them Tenzou’s name, can’t even describe how wonderfully handsome and dorky he is in his mannerism, his likes and dislikes, nor can he even begin to explain how physically, and sexually attractive Tenzou is. There’s nothing Iruka can say to ease the choking feeling of loss, no words to describe how terrible it had felt to know that Tenzou probably belonged to someone else, whether it’s official or not, known or not. Iruka will never be able to put words on how he aches with something that he didn’t ask for.

Kotetsu thankfully, doesn’t allow the moment of surprised silence to dwindle longer than necessary. He reaches forward, claps a hand down on Iruka’s shoulders and with a serious expression, asks, “Do you want him back?” Iruka isn’t sure how to answer the question without making a fool of himself; he makes a throaty noise instead, raising an eyebrow, giving Kotetsu his most unimpressed expression. “Because if you do, I have a plan!”

“Oh?” Raidou uncaps another beer and leans over to listen, pushing another beer in Iruka’s direction.

“We show him what he’s missing out. And how do you do that? We advertise you, Umino Iruka-sensei, and all your good, fun qualities. On a matrimonial ad!” Kotetsu spreads his arms, like he’s seeing a billboard on the street, just as Iruka  _ snorts  _ into the beer he’s drinking and starts coughing. “Twenty-three-year-old male, single, successful Academy instructor, seeking to find love, companionship and good cock for a thirsty mouth and tight ass. All applicants interested in a cutie in the streets, sensei in the sheets, must be strong, loyal, smart and likes ramen. They must also have fun hobbies, open to commitment, children and not be a cheapskate. Perverts will not be entertained.” Kotetsu looks proud of himself. “It’ll work!”

Iruka doesn’t just laugh. He  _ howls _ with it, uncontrolled, loud, and breathless. 

He never gets to hear what this mysterious plan is.

But he supposes, he can thank his friends for running away with the idea the rest of the night. It doesn’t soothe the ache in his chest, but for a moment, as he laughs at their ridiculous (albeit a little unconventional) way of cheering him up, he can pretend that he wasn’t really hurt.

That he’ll be okay even if Tenzou doesn’t come back.

*

Iruka goes home that night with one of the worst hangovers. He isn’t able to decide if this one is worse than the one he had on his birthday. But he takes it in stride, because nursing a headache meant he didn’t have to think about Tenzou’s arms wrapping around him for the last time. A headache that stems from a hangover means he can grumble at his friends, who remains passed out on his living room floor, complain about silly things and not have to think of how Tenzou had recoiled so violently upon hearing that Iruka loves him. 

Iruka mostly stays indoors that day, finishing his stash of cup ramen while Izumo and Kotetsu immerse themselves in a television show. By next morning, when he feels more put together, Iruka resumes a full time shift at the mission desk for the duration of his enforced medical leave.

Iruka doesn’t think more on his disastrous mission, or the fact that his chest remains a little tight, that a light jog would suddenly trigger his shortness for breath. He knows it’ll eventually fade ina  few days, that tissue regeneration tends to do that. He doesn’t even think of the night out with his friends.

It’s a quiet evening, where the last of the rush has dwindled down to a mere trickle. Iruka makes himself a cup of tea, using the quiet down time to catch up on the new book he’s been meaning to read for a while. He is in the middle of reading a rather passionate love confession when Izumo and Kotetsu appears by the doorway. They cast a wary glance around the empty mission room before making their way towards Iruka. Iruka should have known something was up the moment Izumo shoves Kotetsu forward, a large bag of something hidden in Kotetsu’s grasp behind his back. It’s a sorry attempt at concealing, considering Iruka can see it very clearly.

Iruka takes one look at the nervous twitch of a smile on Kotetsu’s face and feels dread coil in his stomach. Wisely, he puts his book away and drains the contents of his tea cup in one go. “What?”

“Okay, so, don’t get mad. But remember how we were talking about my plan? To get back on the guy who decided he didn’t want you after all?” Kotetsu asks. Iruka wants to correct him and say that is not the case at all; he settles for glaring. “And I proposed some sort of matrimonial ad, which you thought was very good?”

“Good and funny are worlds apart, but okay, keep going.” Iruka pushes his chair back a little, flicking a look at Izumo who also had his arms crossed. 

“Well, it got published.” Kotetsu coughs.

Iruka didn’t think he heard the words right and blinks a few times, shaking his head and leaning in a little closer. “Say that again?” 

“The ad. It got published. On the Konoha Daily matrimonial section.” Kotetsu repeats, looking like he wants to be anywhere else but standing in front of Iruka. 

Izumo nudges Kotetsu forward a little irritably. The action prompts Kotetsu to pull out a torn newspaper page, carefully setting it down on the table for Iruka to read. The newspaper is dated two days ago, the very morning Iruka had woken up with a hangover. And right there, in a small section, one that can be easily missed, it reads: 

**Twenty-three-year-old male, single, successful teacher, seeking to find love, companionship and good cock. All applicants interested in a cutie in the streets, sensei in the sheets must be strong, loyal, smart and enjoys ramen. They must also have fun hobbies and not be a cheapskate. Perverts will not be entertained.**

An address is provided where interested applicants can send in their applications, including photographs and a cover letter as to why they may qualify. There’s a fine print at the bottom of the ad that also mentions that all interested candidates will be examined by a third party.

Iruka doesn’t know if he should scream or laugh or maybe both at the same time. He isn’t even sure if he should grateful that at least it didn’t specify that the ridiculous ad was placed on behalf of an Academy teacher. The longer he stares at the ad, the more he starts to panic. 

“This has to be a joke.” Iruka stands, slowly, pointing a finger at the ad on the table. “It was a joke! You were joking! You were making fun of me! How the hell did this happen?”

“It was! It is! You said you wouldn't get mad!” Kotetsu takes a step back, voice pitch a little high, looking absolutely cowed.

“ _ How can I not get mad!” _ Iruka bellows, his voice echoing down the hallway, just as a hand clamps over his mouth. He pushes Izumo away, temper soaring to new heights. “You knew about this?”

“Look! The good thing is that it only circulated for two days!” Izumo defends, hands coming up in a placating gesture.

“ _ Two days!” _ Iruka  _ screeches _ , face igniting like a blazing and uncontrollable forest fire.

“Yes! Two! We didn’t know! Honest, Iruka! We would never! We were  _ drunk! _ We passed out in your living room! So meaning, we went home with you!” Kotetsu actually sounds panicked. “I didn’t even know it went up until I started receiving the applications!”

Iruka’s chair clatters backwards noisily, toppling over when he takes a sudden step back, a finger coming up, like he’s hushing an entire room of misbehaving children. “Applications?”

“Yes.” Izumo grabs the large garbage bag Kotetsu has been trying to pathetically hide behind his back, placing it on the table. “These!”

Iruka glares at the bag, willing it to burst into flames and combust to nothing but ashes. “Who takes these ads seriously! It’s a bullshit ad! Why would anyone even read it?” Iruka’s throat grits with the panicked pitch of his words. 

“Apparently, the entire village.” Izumo pulls at the bag away, undoing the knot. Iruka takes one look at the numerous envelopes of different sizes and proceeds to lose what little logic, compassion, and understanding he may have.

“I  _ teach _ at the  _ Academy! _ If the parents even gets a wind that their proper, innocent and  _ decent _ Iruka-sensei would go ahead and so desperately post such things so publicly —  _ the word cock is on this ad! _ “ Iruka points at the offending bag, a fist on his hip. “You fix this!  _ Fix this at once! _ ”

“I have a plan!” Kotetsu offers.

“Your plan and idea is what caused this!” Iruka shouts.

“I’m going to post several new ads, completely random! Really stupid ones! I’ll run them for a week! That should distract the public from this one! It’s genius! It’s foolproof! I’ll keep the mailing address similar! And whatever response I get, I can shred later!” Kotetsu actually looks bright eyed as he says it, convinced that it would work. “It’ll take the attention off you! And then, we can laugh about this over beer —”

“No beer!” Iruka and Izumo choruses.

“Fine, we can go read all this at your place and have a good laugh and years from now, it won’t even matter! See? Here, let’s open one right now! I bet it’s not even a serious response!” Kotetsu pulls out an envelope, that Iruka quickly yanks out of his hand rather viciously, crumpling the edges with his tight grip.

“I’ll open that!” Iruka huffs, tearing the nine by twelve inches envelope open, pulling out a large, high definition, glossy picture of an erect penis. Iruka is taken aback by the sight of it, recoiling loudly with a squawk, holding the picture out like it’s been contaminated by something dangerous. “What the — what sick pervert would —  _ what is this!” _

Izumo takes the photograph and flinches too. “Oh. Wow, that is huge!”

“This is your fault!” Iruka yells, pointing an accusing finger at Kotetsu’s face. “I bet you this entire bag is filled with things like this!” 

“I like this guy.” Kotetsu isn’t phased at all. Instead, he nods with what looks like genuine approval. “Not stingy on the photo paper quality, that’s always a good sign!”

“Are you actually judging this candidate?” Iruka is breathless with incredulity as he turns to look at Izumo, Iruka’s voice going a decibel higher. “Is he really judging this candidate?” 

“Hold on, there’s something written at the back — uh, okay tokubetsu jounin, field active, single, thirty one. Looking for someone real and compassionate. I am lost and we sound like we can ignite the fires of passion together. Would you consider giving me the directions to your heart?” The silence that fills the mission room is staggering. Iruka continues to stare at Kotetsu’s mouth, like he’s trying to figure out if he had heard right, or if his temper is causing his entire brain to malfunction. “Hey, you’re a size queen. Does he look like someone you’d want to give directions to your heart to?” 

Iruka clambers over the table starts to shake Kotetsu back and forth like a rag doll. He calls him all kinds of things, accuses him of slander, quotes section of Konoha’s law that he can take him before a judge to as Izumo tries to separate them both, the photo falling to the ground, forgotten.

“How dare you accuse me of being a size queen! It’s not about being big! It’s about how you use it, dumbass! You should know that, you’re fucking Izumo!” Iruka plants a hand on Kotetsu’s face, shoving at him, wanting nothing more than to punch his face in. If he didn’t care or love Kotetsu as a friend, he would have planted a kunai in his throat by now.

“It was an honest question! I mean, you do prefer them thick, and juicy, right? On a score of one to ten, how would you rate this poor, lost cock?” Kotetsu laughs to the point of tears, seeing humor in the entire ordeal, unperturbed by Iruka’s temper, or how Izumo is failing to pry Iruka’s fingers off his face and uniform.

“ _ That is not the fucking point! _ ” Iruka grabs his book and hits Kotetsu over the head with it. Izumo throws his hands up and gives up, opting to open another envelope. “And I’d give that a seven, just for size alone! I’ve seen bigger!”

“See? Size queen!” Kotetsu claps, staggering backwards and pushing his hair back with his fingers, flushed and breathless with laughter, rubbing the spot on his head where the book had connected rather solidly.

“This big perhaps?” Izumo holds out another photograph, one not as glossy with an erect penis held down on what looks like a table, right next to a ruler. Izumo begins to read the message that came with the lewd print out. “Twenty six, single, solid jounin reputation. I will protect your honor and put your pleasure before mine. I’m no genie, but I am confident I can make all your wildest dreams come true.”

Iruka looks at the photo, nose wrinkling a little bit in disgust at the stupid cover sentence, studying the girth and length before him. He looks at the well trimmed pubic hair and notices a very noticeable and prominent scar on the groin area. The camera angle makes it hard to decipher what it is exactly. There’s something familiar about that scar, the way it's almost half a circle, a burn mark of sorts.

“He’s looking at it.” Kotetsu muses.

“He’s  _ really _ looking at it.” Izumo parrots.

“I think I know this guy.” Iruka grabs the photo, taking a closer look. “I’ve seen that scar before. Does that look like a burn mark to you?” Iruka holds the photo down, pointing at the mark in question. The three of them huddle, staring down at the photo together. They’re in the middle of contesting the possibility of it not being a burn mark when the sudden presence behind them makes every single cell in Iruka freeze to solid ice.

“Ah, I see Iruka’s ad was published after all.” Raidou says, the fallen photograph between his fingers, his eyebrow raised.

Iruka can feel all the color leave his face, how the blood in his body seems to suddenly collect at his feet, spreading in an invisible pool on the ground as he watches the disaster unfold before him. Because right behind Raidou, Genma appears with Gai in tow, both peering over Raidou’s shoulder. Iruka can almost hear the count down in his head, as he sees the wheels turn in Genma’s head when the flush rise high over Gai’s cheeks. 

“What an astounding, vibrant display of confidence! How monumentally courageous! Is this yours, Iruka-sensei?” Gai inquires, sincere, a smirking gleam in his usually broad grin with fists on his hips. 

Iruka isn’t sure what to make of that expression, the slight sharp gleam in Gai’s eyes. Iruka’s tongue seems to knot around itself inside his mouth.

The silence in the mission room is staggering as whatever blood that had rushed to his feet now seems to be making its way to his head, heat and embarrassment washing his entire face in a prominent shade of red. Words fail him just as much as his friends. It isn’t Kotetsu’s constipated expression that does him in, nor is it Izumo’s bugged eyed expression or Genma’s full on toothy grin, or Gai’s rather earnest question. It’s Raidou’s slow and  _ knowing _ smirk, the one that still can make butterflies flutter in Iruka’s stomach that does him in (it’s not a secret amongst his friends that Iruka’s has had a teenager’s crush on Raidou ever since his first A-rank mission with him as captain all those years ago).

Iruka’s cheeks are as hot as molten iron. Iruka doesn’t think he’s been more embarrassed in his life than this very moment. It beats throwing up on Kakashi. Iruka opens his mouth and manages to form a response in his most deplorable tone. “No...” 

“Ah, is that so? Well, Iruka-sensei, you must not allow my response to deter your confidence in your manhood. For I am sure, just like your tenacious personality, surely the object of your passions is also the epitome of of hardihood, vigour, size, shape and fruitfulness!” Gai punctuates his sentence with a thumbs up sign.

“That does sound very much like you, Iruka~” Genma comments.

Izumo and Kotetsu pretends to busy themselves with clearing up the large bag, plucking the photo carefully from Raidou’s fingers and shoving it as deep as it can go into the bag of envelopes. Iruka doesn’t know why his face isn’t on fire yet, can see Izumo and Kotetsu’s shoulders  _ shake _ with the effort of keeping their no doubt, rambunctious laughter as quiet and as civil as humanly possible; they were practically purple in color.

Raidou, bless his heart, quietly slides the mission report on the table. It takes all of Iruka’s self control to not jump at the report, as he corrects his fallen chair and carefully sit down with trembling knees and long dissolved pride. Iruka goes through the motions of checking the report, filling out a separate form as he reads Raidou’s block handwriting. “You can all laugh if you want, you know? You too, Gai-sensei. I’m aware as to how horribly foolish this may all look like.” Iruka mutters with barely contained annoyance.

“Perhaps! Though, I am curious as to what this ad you mentioned may be, Raidou?” Gai asks, frowning and crossing his arms his thought. “Ah, is this the ad?” Gai pulls the slightly crumpled newspaper clipping from the table and proceeds to read it. Iruka watches with equal parts horror and shame as Gai’s thick eyebrows disappears under the fall of his smooth bangs and he proceeds to  _ laugh _ , head thrown back, booming and loud.

Iruka turns to look at his friends, murder in his gaze as he viciously stamps the report so hard that it’s miracle the table didn’t crack under the force of it. Kotetsu dissolves to a peels of uncontrolled and unabashed laughter, giving up on standing all together as he leans heavily on the table. The rest had a little more finesse, even if the obvious lopsided grins on Genma and Raidou’s face and Izumo’s barely contained chuckles does nothing to appease Iruka’s wounded pride.

“Honestly, I still don’t know why anyone would pay such a ludicrous thing any sort of attention!” Iruka grouches, looking at the time and sighing a little irritably when he realizes he still had half an hour before his shifts ends. He watches Gai clap a hand on Genma’s back and shake his head as he continues to laugh. “It’s not that funny!”

“Oh, Iruka-sensei, I am not laughing at the fact that this ad was posted on your behalf! You certainly do not require such a thing! Anyone with a functioning eyesight should be able to not only see, but also realize that you are a vision! Like an ever blooming blossom in spring! No season can deter your comeliness! Your dynamism! You are indeed an ever shining example to not only our youth, but to everyone who walks into this office!” Gai spreads his arms out and Iruka wishes, not for the first time, that he was a pebble on the ground. A grain of sand. Perhaps even displaced air itself. He’s never received such outlandish praise in such a manner before, certainly not this loudly, either. “No, Iruka-sensei! I laugh because this article reminds me of a time when were once young, when Genma and I --”

“We are still, technically, young, Gai…” Genma snorts.

“-- had been on a most glorious quest to assist our fellow genin teammate, Ebisu, in matters of the heart! Do you remember, Genma? The ad we posted! Very much so like this! But I believe with a little less honor!”

Iruka turns his attention to Genma, whose eyes had gone impossibly wide before he bursts out  _ laughing _ . Iruka recoils at the suddenness of it, how it leaves Genma looking a lot younger, voice a tad high pitch. Gai joins in the laugh as well, leaving the four of them curiously watching the former genin teammates clearly laugh at something that had happened years ago.

“Chouza-sensei was pissed as hell! Holy shit, Gai, I forgot about that.” Genma manages to say, in between breaths as he shakes his head.

“Right?” Gai grins, flashing his full set of teeth. “Ah, what a pleasant memory. Although, not so much so when it happened.”

“Well, now I’m curious.” Iruka says, shrugging and looking at the crowd of clowns before him -- he’s glad to have the attention taken away from him.

“Wrap up, and we’ll meet you at Haru’s. Gai, you’re coming too, right?” Raidou asks. 

“I would be honored to be a part of your gathering!” Gai announces. 

Iruka thinks it would be best to escape and return to his apartment, to not allow himself to be more embarrassed. But as they keep talking and making dinner plans, with Izumo and Kotetsu gathering the large bag to make use of the shredder down the hall, Iruka think it’s probably better to be around people, better to be distracted by company, rather than return to his apartment where every corner of it reminds him of a man who isn’t coming back. 

*

It turns out to be one of the nicest, if not the most entertaining dinners Iruka’s ever had. Gai had provided him with enough stories about Ebisu to make him realize that the matrimonial ad doesn’t mean a damn thing.

*

(Iruka is glad for his friends, is glad for their company. He doesn’t think they’ll ever understand how their presence is like an anchor to him, when he feels adrift and a little too alone on most nights.)

*

Iruka walks down the road towards his apartment, his belly full and just a touch tipsy. While time spent with his friends and Gai’s company had been great, everytime he remembers the reason it had lead to such a gathering ends up with him scowling rather viciously to himself. Iruka grumbles, shaking his head and trying to dispel the embarrassment away. What’s done is done. He isn’t going to wallow over spilt milk. Shinobi are curious creatures by nature, it’s in their training to seek out information. A part a part of him hopes that people don’t make the connection. Which is wishful thinking because any shinobi worth their salt would track the address to one Hagane Kotetsu, who happens to be friends with only one twenty-three year old teacher, who isn’t married or engaged in an actual relationship, and likes ramen. Other than Naruto, Iruka is sure that his reputation as a loyal customer to Ichiraku is well known.

And while Izumo and Kotetsu had assured him,  _ repeatedly, _ that every letter, photo, and whatever else that had been in that garbage bag was shredded to confetti, that Koteotsu is going to make his way to the Konoha Daily first thing in the morning to put his marvelous plan into action, Iruka knows that all this is going to bite him in the ass in some shape or form. 

Iruka sighs deeply, lifting his eyes from the ground, preparing to side step the presence before him before he comes to a sudden halt.

Tenzou is standing frozen before him, eyes wide, looking a little haggard around the edges, a take out bag in his hand. Tenzou looks a lot leaner than he did the last time Iruka had seen him, cleary not yet recovering most the bulk that he had lost being ten weeks away. Iruka can see the sharper jut of his collarbone, peeking out from the v-neck of his t-shirt. The long hair is gone, the bruises on Tenzou’s wrists and neck also fading to almost nothing. Tenzou looks exhausted, like he hasn’t had much rest, much like the first time he had returned to Iruka’s apartment after being away for so long.

_ He looks terrible _ , Iruka thinks, lips parting in a soft breath of surprise. The exhale doesn’t follow, nor do the words form.

Tenzou remains tight lipped, jaw tensed, everything about him going as still as a statue. Iruka sees nothing in his eyes, sees no hint of emotion that would match the sudden turbulent storm swirling in his chest. Iruka wants nothing more than to take his hand in his, tell him about his horrible day, the embarrassment he had just gone through. He wants to tell him to come home with him, to take a nap on his favorite pineapple cushion, to sit and have dinner with him on the floor as they watch reruns of  _ Days of our Past _ . Iruka wants nothing more than to cross the distance between them, tell him how he missed him.

Because he’s been trying hard not to think about Tenzou. He’s been consciously spending more time around his friends when he can, that had it not been for that disastrous mission, he probably wouldn’t even be in the village. 

Hope that had no business of being present flares like the last glow of dying embers. Iruka knows that if Tenzou didn’t care, he wouldn’t have stopped. If Tenzou didn’t care, he would have walked past him like a stranger on the street. 

But they’re not strangers to each other. Not anymore.

So Iruka doesn’t treat him like a stranger. He smiles instead, polite, proper, reigning what little happiness he feels in just seeing Tenzou again, unseemingly hurt, safe and very much alive. Iruka dips his head down, and with every strength he can muster, side steps to continue on his way.

Iruka tells himself that he’s made a wise decision, engaging at a minimal level, remaining polite. That they can pretend they don’t have history with each other, try harder to pretend that their bodies didn’t fit perfectly together, when deep down, everything in Iruka tells him that it should not be this way, that it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

He pretends that the sight of the chamomile pot and crimson daisy by his kitchen window doesn’t send a sharp pang of something ugly and bitter in his chest. He should get rid of them, plant them somewhere far away where it can grow out of his sight. It’s not the first time he thinks of doing such a thing.

Iruka knows that he won’t, that like Mizuki, it’ll take a long time for the hurt and bitterns to fade because if there’s one thing Iruka knows about himself, it’s that he has a hard time letting go. 

*

When Tenzou’s feet moves, it takes him straight to the bachelor pads where Kakashi’s apartment is located. Subconsciously, Tenzou knows it’ll do him good, to fuck the entire thing out of his system, washaway the sweet taste of Iruka’s lips from his mouth, one that refuses to go away no matter how many times he brushes his teeth or chews on his lower lip, a sordid attempt to chase that phantom taste away to no avail.

Kakashi wouldn’t turn him away. 

Kakashi would oblige his request to make it hurt, to fucking again and again, until he passes out. And when the sun rises, if he asks Kakashi to split him in half with cock, to make it feel gritty, dark, desperate, just like all those years when they were in the field together, maybe then, he’d forget what Iruka’s body had felt like, the warmth of it, how the gentle caress on his skin would be replaced by something more callous, maybe even cruel — Kakashi would do it all,  _ if _ he asks.

But Tenzou takes one look at the light in Kakashi’s living room and walks away instead.

Because deep down, Tenzou knows that try as Kakashi might, even if his hands decides to slow down, to brush like a lover’s touch over Tenzou’s skin, so soft in its caress, Kakashi is never going to be Iruka. He’ll never  _ be _ Iruka because Kakashi is a broken man who functions in the present but wants nothing of the future, not when he’s too busy looking at a past he can’t change or escape. Kakashi isn’t Iruka because he’s too scarred, too flawed, and while Kakashi loved deep, he will never be as courageous as Iruka to openly show that love, to be able to commit.

It isn’t Kakashi he needs.

It’s never been Kakashi.

Tenzou sucks in a shuddering breath, swallowing past the bitter constriction of his throat and walks away. He doesn’t need Kakashi to fuck this out of him. Kakashi wouldn’t be able too even if he tried, anyway. But Tenzou decides he’ll take a page out of Kakashi’s book and use avoidance to tackle his distracting thoughts.

He’d take the longest mission there is and maybe, when he comes back, the thought of Iruka won’t be as distracting anymore. 

Tenzou is aware of how much he’s lying to himself, how stupidly uncharacteristic it is for him to not tackle the situation head on.

He accepts the four week long mission to Tea and as expected, it does nothing to ease the pain of constantly remembering, thinking and dreaming about a future with Iruka. The six week mission to Snow after that does nothing for him, either. 

Tenzou comes home worn and fraying a little around the edges, sinking into dusty sheets with little to no care, the blood and flesh of his enemies caked into his uniform, staining the gray of his existence with red. Tenzou stares at the empty wall, at dawn spilling very muted colors to his bleak existence. He misses the sight of Iruka’s books, the little trinkets and photographs that lined the left side of his bedroom wall. He misses the colored sheets, the smell of orange and cinnamon that clung to Iruka’s pillow. 

He still maintains that he’s made the right decision, that having a liability like Iruka or a lover would distract him from his ability to serve the village. 

It just feels so wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was pre-written. I just had to move my ass and post it and make changes.
> 
> Still slow in updating. Might be even slower NOW, too. But eh. There we go! Thank you for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta. May have missed shit. Short chapter.
> 
> Come say hi @ tumblr: pinkcatharsis

 

It takes a little over the length of the summer break for Iruka to decide that he couldn’t stand to look at the chamomile and daisy plants any longer.

It takes another week for him to pick up the potted plants one afternoon after the Academy had resumed its classes and carry it to the far end of the village. Iruka finds a old and large cedar tree, and begins to dig by its roots. Iruka pretends that his hands doesn’t shake as he buries what’s left of his heart into the soil. He pretends the world around him doesn’t blur as he pats the soil down carefully, watching the beautiful white and red petals sway in the gentle autumn wind.

Iruka stands carefully, dusting the soil off his hands, blinking away the salt from his eyes and walks away.

Trying to forget someone you love, Iruka realizes, is like trying to remember someone you never met.

*

It didn’t matter who Iruka fell into bed with. It didn’t matter whose lips left lurid marks on his skin, whose hands pressed into his flesh, leaving grisly marks over skin – it all remains a sad secret Iruka continues to keep, just like the passionate contusions and vivid discoloration that Iruka hides under the cover of his uniform.

Tenzou isn’t coming back.

They say all pains dull with time.

Iruka stares out at the treeline of gold and red far beyond the towering buildings as he grips the headboard to steady himself, gritting his teeth as his lover for the weekend pounds ruthlessly into his body, his neck arched as he struggles to breathe around the fingers wrapped around his throat, numb in everything that matters, loss in memories he knows he won’t ever relive.

Pain dulls with time, my ass, Iruka thinks, as he slides his shut and shudders as he comes, wishing, not for the first time, that it was Tenzou in his apartment instead of the stranger.

*

The harder Tenzou tries to forget about Iruka, the more ends up thinking about Iruka.

Weeks turns to months, Konoha’s humidity lifting to make way for cool breezes, peppered with the loose fall of gold, red and orange leaves. Fire nation is at its most beautiful during fall. Tenzou usually gets the opportunity to watch the gradual change. Instead, he comes home to a complete different sight after an eight week long mission in Snow. It’s a welcoming sight, to see the spread of vivid color as opposed to the washed out barren whiteness of snow and ice.

Coming home to something so beautiful, reminds him of dimpled, cheeky smiles that Tenzou has spent weeks desperately trying to forget. Coming home to see Konoha preparing for its annual Grand Fire festival reminds him of everything he he’s tried to forget, that the moment he walks past Konoha’s gates, the moment he sees the bright white lanterns decorating every possible corner, all he can think of is Iruka and how beautiful he would probably look on the day Konoha sets the lanterns free to the sky.

Tenzou slows to a halt under the shade of a maple tree, towering next to the Hokage tower, where just beyond, he can see the Academy playground. Under the golden glow of the setting sun, Tenzou can see a few of the children still playing on the swings and the monkey bars, can hear their distant laughter.

He’s looking for Iruka when he has no business looking for him.

Thinking of Iruka comes with a kind of pain Tenzou isn’t sure how to handle. Tenzou’s always prided himself in his ability to make quick, efficient decisions. He doesn’t think his decision to separate from Iruka and their mutual arrangement is wrong. If anything, it had been the right call to make.

It’s just that he didn’t expect it to hurt the way a wound would, if not worse.

This isn’t something a medic can fix, no pill can numb. A festering disease of want, need and so many things Tenzou didn’t imagine he’d go through.

The pain under his ribcage flares in an instant when he catches sight of Iruka stepping out of the building to call the children in, something Tenzou has seen him do so many times. He watches with an ache so profound that for a moment, it’s almost as if his lungs seize inwards, his throat closes up, as if poison is coursing through his veins, rendering his body weak, his functions gradually failing. He watches, helplessly, pathetically, as Iruka gently ushers the children into the door, calling out instructions to not run in the hallway, to not forget their book bag – and the smile that comes with the soft and exasperated sigh that follows is enough to make Tenzou press his hands against the barbwire fence, fingers gripping it tight, knuckles white, unaware that his feet had carried him across the distance.

It’s dangerous, Iruka’s influence and ability to reel Tenzou’s unmoored body from the tempestuous sea. It’s almost hypnotic, how when Iruka turns and sees him, how the soft smile drops from his face and is replaced by open surprise and something almost warm, and in a span of a heartbeat, when Iruka too crosses the space and there is nothing but comfort and what Tenzou supposes is the feeling home, of roots digging deep into the ground.

Iruka’s curious head tilt freezes time for a moment, the small gesture prompting Tenzou to sink into the present. He hadn’t intended to approach Iruka, had not intended to say anything. Yet here he is, seeing beyond the guarded expression on Iruka’s beautiful face, where Tenzou can clearly see the cracks that betray something as raw as the invisible wound festering with infection under Tenzou’s ribcage.

“You look well. I heard you got hurt,” Tenzou says, his eyes raking over Iruka’s frame, taking in the slightly darker brush of a fading summer tan on his cheeks and how the statement makes Iruka suck in a slow breath.

“No more than others who were affected by the skirmishes.” Iruka nods, gaze sliding away and throat bobbing as he swallows. “My team received assistance from the patrolling unit at the time.”

“I see.” Tenzou releases his grip on the barbwire fence, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“Can the Academy assist you with anything further, Shinobi-san?” Iruka asks, back straightening and holding Tenzou’s gaze unflinchingly.

The question doesn’t cut. It shreds.

Tenzou doesn’t move, the ground suddenly coming up and holding him prisoner, just as Iruka’s words wrap like a chord around his neck, cutting off his air supply. Tenzou knows the power of words, how they can be used to campaign the collapse of empires. He knows how they can propagate movements and change, or how sometimes, words that turn to empty promises and destroy a person from within, how everything under the skin and bones gradually turns to ash and leaves nothing in its wake but a shell of a man too stuck on living on the past and half blind to the future.

It’s a simple question. A polite, professional inquiry. Something not uncharacteristic for an Academy teacher to ask a wandering shinobi staring into the Academy grounds.

(It shouldn’t hurt.)

“No.” Tenzou takes a step back, feet as heavy as lead blocks.

“It is protocol to direct all inquiries to the front desk. In the future, please remember that, Shinobi-san. The Academy is always happy to assist and entertain concerns,” Iruka continues, as if the lines were being read from a card queue, rehearsed and perfectly even in tone.

“Of course, sensei,” Tenzou dips his in agreement, needles prickling around the edge of his words as he restrains the sudden, strong urge to leap over the fence and shake Iruka, remind him that they are not strangers, that he knows every bit of his body, the taste of his lips, the sound of his voice when he laughs, when he speak of something fondly, irritably, angrily, or bitterly. He wants shake him and remind him that they anything but strangers, that just months ago, _you said you loved me and here you are pretending I’m just another faceless shinobi when you said I’m not._ “Wrong of me to forget.”

“Something to remember in the future.” Iruka takes a step back, an action of retreat, his body pulled taut with tension, jawline prominent as Tenzou recognizes the signs of Iruka trying to not come apart, too.

Tenzou turns around then, wrenching his eyes off everything he wants to hold close and never let go. “It’s good to see you well, Iruka.”

“Please don’t come back.” Iruka sounds bitter, callous even, and when Tenzou jerks his head up, Iruka already has his back to him and is walking away. “You’ll only make this worse.”

“I’m sorry…”

Iruka doesn’t say anything.

Why would he?

He’s probably heard a similar apology over a thousand times.

*

Kakashi finds Tenzou days later, sitting alone at an izakaya near the Hokage tower, poking at food that had long gone cold, and swirling a tall glass of barely touched and now warm beer. Outside, the festivities for the fire festival are picking up, with the distant parade of drums and dance approaching in their circle around Konoha’s main streets. The sounds of cheer and joy falling flat on Tenzou’s ears, as do Kakashi’s footsteps and his greeting. He doesn’t lift his head up from the poor sight of mish-mashed vegetables and rice in his bowl, barely touched and still tasting like ash on his tongue.

Everything seems so ashy now, grey washed and dull and if Tenzou hadn’t been forced to remain in Konoha after being away for too long, he would have left days ago.

“Didn’t expect to see you here. When did you get back?” Kakashi asks.

“Not too long ago.” Tenzou doesn’t look up from the table, his answer uncharacteristically vague.

“I see.” Kakashi pulls a chair out and drops down. “You look like you could use a distraction.”

“I do?” Tenzou sets the beer glass down, and lifts his gaze up to meet Kakashi’s, chakra reeled in and pressing down, the tell tale signs of irritation brushing under his skin like a teasing caress, as he tilts his head in a casual feign of relaxed dismissal.

Kakashi is all hard edges and sharp lines, scars and a story of war that Tenzou no longer wanted to be a part of. He didn’t want to taste broken skin under his tongue, hear the shuddered sighs of a man that’s barely man but more like a haphazardly pieced together weapon, held together with nothing but duty. Good man he may be, Kakashi is everything one should never hope to become. Power, it seems, means nothing when you’re so ready to die and you have nothing but regrets in you.

Kakashi hums in response, noncommittal, patient, an eyebrow cocking.

Tenzou shouldn’t go with Kakashi. He knows this.

But as the parade walks past the izakaya, all Tenzou can see is the dance of firelight casting gold over a beautiful face, the fall of thick silky hair over narrow but deceptively strong shoulders, possibly wrapped in dark blue fabric, the most breathtaking dimples hollowing and a smile peeking from between soft lips. Tenzou knows Iruka wouldn’t be in uniform tonight, because he’s part of the escort of children trailing after the parade with their lanterns this year. Everything about the wondrous festivities outside, how lively it is compared to the barren wasteland Tenzou seems to be since he shut the door Iruka has always kept open for him, how breathtaking it must be if Tenzou would just glimpse at it, only serves to remind him of what kind of hurt he caused a man that deserved the world, if not more.

Tenzou sets the beer down, along with a few bills and stands.

He didn’t want to go with Kakashi, didn’t want to be pinned under him and kissed by a scarred mouth that isn’t as soft, isn’t as sweet like chocolate covered daifuku, or mango-peach yogurt, or the sweetened orange tea Iruka liked so much. Kakashi doesn’t sigh softly, nor does he verbalize his name because they’re quiet, the two of them, men who were born to be in nothing but the shadows, tearing and rebuilding each other with each pound of flesh, each slap of palm over skin, each bruise left behind by fingers that grip to tightly.

It isn’t Kakashi Tenzou wants. It’s never been Kakashi.

Somewhere, at the back of Tenzou’s mind, as he shudders and comes with black spots taking over his vision, Tenzou thinks he should have just said no.

Kakashi would understand.

After all, Kakashi knows, what love must feel like.

 

*

Tenzou wakes up with a sharp inhale the moment he registers that the hand on his hips doesn’t belong to the man he wants it to belong. Behind him, Kakashi stirs, the movement subtle, quiet, hushed like the darkened bedroom, as the hand on his hip slides up to rest on his shoulder, pale fingers curling in a silent gesture

The ache that slams into Tenzou’s chest then is like a powerful jutsu, cracking at his ANBU armor and tearing apart at his singlet, digging into his flesh and going straight for where he is the most vulnerable.

It’s suddenly too much, Kakashi’s hand, his presence, his warmth — it wraps like a tight collar around Tenzou’s throat, tightening with each struggle for a measured breath and the exhale that doesn’t quite come out. It’s wrong to feel this way with Kakashi, to want to flinch away from the hand on his shoulder, put distance between them when it was never a problem. It should never be a problem. In the years since they’ve fallen into this kind of mutual arrangement, Tenzou can’t think of a time where Kakashi’s touch elicited goosebumps on his skin, when there’s absolutely nothing wrong with what they’re doing.

It’s Kakashi.

There’s no one he’d trust more with his life than Kakashi.

Tenzou exhales softly, closing his eyes, guilt and shame filling his lungs, and carefully pats Kakashi’s hand on his shoulder, a silent acknowledgment that he’s okay, go back to sleep. Tenzou doesn’t look behind him when he stands, jaw gritting at the sharp pain that shoots up his backside as he limps his way out of the room, picking up his pants from the floor and closing the door behind him with a soft click. Tenzou goes straight for the kitchen sink, splashing icy cold water on his face, pressing cold damp fingers on the back of his neck and closing his eyes as he imagines Iruka, imagines him rolling out of his bed and coming to find him, imagines the softness of his fingers, how warm and comfortable they always are when they press on his hips, traces a warm line all the way up Tenzou’s sides to rest on his shoulders. Tenzou remembers how Iruka would cup him by the neck, fingers languidly tracing the cut of Tenzou’s jaw. There was always something benevolent and enamored in the way Iruka had looked at him, dimples dotting his cheeks that when he leans to press lips on the corners of Tenzou’s lips, it would lingering and soft, his thumb brushing over Tenzou’s jawline as he murmurs, _come back to bed_.

But Iruka isn’t here.

May never will be because Tenzou had walked away from that, not because he didn’t want it, but because he didn’t know what to _do_ with it.

Tenzou opens his eyes and shuts off the running tap, tugging a few paper towels and patting the cold dampness dry. He takes out a glass, pulls out the bottle of whiskey he remembers purchasing months ago and breaks the seal. He pours his first glass by the window sill of his living room, and  takes it all down in one burning gulp, watching the festivities continue in the distance. It’s bitter and hot and for a moment, the heat is enough to mute the ache in his chest as he cringes and sets the glass down with a quiet clink, staring out at the glittering lights of the village. From where he is, he can see the Hokage tower and the rooftops of the Academy. From where he stands, there is no rattling sound of passing rickshaws, no sound of grill smoke or the clambering noises of pots and pans, the slamming of doors or loud conversations between shopkeepers. His ceiling remains darkened by the shadows, no colorful reflected glow of the street signs outside.

His apartment is a lot nicer than Iruka’s, newer, in a better and quieter location, with finer finishing and a lot more space.

But Iruka’s apartment had felt like home, a place where Tenzou can find solace from the ever changing chaos of the shadowed world around him, where apparently, love had resided this entire time, tucked away from the eyes of a heartless world. Iruka and his small piece of heaven, all that personality and all that cheekiness had been a reminder that no matter how far Tenzou goes, how long he stays away, Iruka was always there, waiting for him to return.

(Iruka didn’t have to wait, yet he did. And something about that had made Tenzou feel a little more like he belonged to something more than just the purpose of his meager existence.)

Tenzou stares at the line of cacti on his windowsill, pouring himself another drink just as the door of his bedroom opens and he catches the reflection of Kakashi coming out in his pants and shirt. “I hope I didn’t wake you.” Tenzou sets the bottle down, gesturing towards it, a silent offering if Kakashi wants to help himself.

“No, not really,” Kakashi drawls, and Tenzou listens rather than watches Kakashi take a glass out for himself and joins him by the window.

They drink in relative silence and Tenzou finds himself wishing, with every fiber of his being, that Kakashi’s solid presence and warmth had belonged to someone else.

Guilt slams up to Tenzou’s throat as he feels a tremble worm its way down to his fingers. He tosses the drink, feeling like there’s no ground under his feet as his thoughts slams left and right, unanchored as it capsizes in the sea of confusion and uncertainty. He’s never had to feel discomfort in Kakashi’s presence, nor did he ever have to feel a yearning that isn’t so simple as a bodily need or want. A part of him had probably acknowledged it a long time ago, when he had first revealed _what_ he truly is to Iruka the day he had pressed his hands together in a hand seal and formed the potted crimson daisy plant that had remained on Iruka’s nightstand. It’s the first thing he wakes up to, Iruka had told him, _when I look at it, I think of you_.

Tenzou’s glass clatters a little when he sets it down on the windowsill a little clumsily, a little irritated. He’s fully aware of the weighty stare Kakashi has on him, how he’s reading him like an open book. He probably even notices the tremble in his fingers and the slightly clumsy handling of his glass.

Kakashi’s stare only fuels the swirling storm that had no choice but to remain inwards.

Tenzou knows he’s terrible company, knows that even if he tries, Kakashi has already figured out that something is off. It’s there in the slow and measured pour of whiskey, how a pale finger nudges the glass across the windowsill, the action itself a silent question, an invitation to talk about what’s really bothering Tenzou.

Outside, thousands of glowing lanterns rise and alight the sky. It casts a glittering glow like a thousand suns illuminating the entire village, bathing it in gold and pushing some of the shadows backwards. For a moment, the world stops spinning and all there is in the space of Tenzou’s thundering heart, is the quiet realization that everything about his arrangement with Kakashi is suddenly wrong. He shouldn’t do this to Kakashi, he should have never agreed to fuck at all. The last time he was in bed with him, it had resulted in Tenzou losing the one thing that grounded and made him whole. 

(It made Home belong to something else other than a mission.)

“We shouldn’t do this anymore,” Tenzou says, picking up the glass Kakashi had poured him. “We shouldn’t fuck anymore.”

The silence that suddenly falls is so thick that the clink of the bottle on the glass is loud, slicing through the carefully veiled surprised on Kakashi’s face. Tenzou watches as a minute frown etches itself between Kakashi’s brows, and his fingers tighten on the glass in his hand for a moment. The stiffness that suddenly lines his back is the only clue Tenzou gets that the statement had thrown him off.

“Ah.” Kakashi doesn’t move, doesn’t even change his stance for the longest of moments, Sharingan spinning slowly as he looks at Tenzou with both eyes, and takes a careful sip from his glass. “Is that why you’ve been so distracted?”

Tenzou can’t form words, can’t articulate his thoughts, isn’t even sure how to even explain the storm in his chest, how his feet want to cross one block after the other, search for Iruka in the crowds and openly wrap his arms around that slighter frame, press lips against skin that is about as sweet as iced milk tea, fill his lungs with the smell of oranges and cinnamon and feel Iruka’s fingers on his neck and hair. Tenzou goes rigidly still as he stares at floating lantern fade to shadows in an arch in the sky, jaw locking as his teeth grind down, tries to keep himself from moving, from betraying how he wants to leave, wants to be anywhere but this impersonal, cold apartment that is not a home, but a waiting space of sorts.

The walls are suddenly too high and too close, limiting the flow of air, making his heart pound harder in his chest. Tenzou flicks a look at Kakashi, watches how Kakashi leans against the window frame, hand in his pants pocket. It’s an open ended question, one that gives Tenzou free reign on how much he wants to divulge. There is no harm in telling Kakashi, because there’s no one else he’d trust with this kind of thing more than the man looking at him now.

Tenzou parts his lips to give voice to the swirling mess in his throat, only to have his teeth clack together sharply, pushing the words down, keeping everything quiet, hushed, always a secret, always silence because he’s not meant to have a future. Tenzou leans forward, taking a deep and steadying breath, gripping the edge of the window sill, knuckles going bone white as his eyes turns to the general direction of Iruka’s apartment. Tenzou thinks of the countless nights Iruka spends grading and preparing his children’s work, the countless hours he spends cutting out little award ribbons at the end of term for his youngest class. It was to acknowledge their hard work, Iruka had said, these things might not mean much to many, but it boosts their confidence and makes them a little less afraid of the course material.

Tenzou remembers how Iruka had handed him a pair of scissors and colored paper, how he had bribed him to cut out fifty blue circles, how he had leaned in and whispered, “Help me finish my award ribbons and I’ll let you blindfold and tie me up~”

Tenzou honestly didn’t need the bribe. He would have happily helped Iruka cut a thousand blue circles, fold and glue ribbons for his kids, because that dimpled smile and the way Iruka would look at him made it all worth it.

He thinks of the dedication, how Iruka had rushed back home all harried and flushed, how he had rushed in preparing dinner because he had stayed a few more hours at the Academy, helping his slower kids prepare for their final exam, and how the lateness had caused a domino effect in his schedule. He remembers Iruka apologising for serving dinner so late. Sometimes, he doesn’t get to make dinner at all.

Tenzou remembers finding him on the couch, still in his uniform, fast asleep, groceries still in bags by his feet.

Tenzou thinks of the night of spring festival months ago, how Iruka had put aside his rank and title, had taken Toshio’s hand and stepped into the role of a parent and friend. Tenzou remembers the look of adoration on the little boy’s face, remembers how Toshio had blushed and looked at Iruka like he was a hero.

He thinks of the faith Iruka puts in Naruto, how it’s unshakeable, how his eyes glow a little brighter each time he talks about Naruto, how he’s the happiest just talking about the boy who is hated by the village. How beautiful he is when he’s happy.

Of course Tenzou is distracted. How could he not be?

“Forgive me,” Tenzou whispers, staring at his hands, watches it shake as he balls it to a fist. Embarrassment makes the heat splash high over his cheeks and down the length of his neck, spreading over his chest and shoulders because the shame suddenly swallows him whole, when he sees Kakashi’s eyes widen.

There is a pause, and Kakashi clears his throat, tossing the rest of his drink back in one, long swig. From the reflection on the glass, Tenzou can see how Kakashi keeps himself guarded, expression controlled. “How long have you felt this way?” Kakashi asks, the words as careful and controlled.

Tenzou’s jaw locks as his lips spread into a mocking smile when his mind comes up with the answer: months.

He’s felt this way for months.

A tremble passes through Tenzou’s fingers as he grips the edge of the window, the embarrassment dusting darker over his cheeks. Tenzou closes his eyes and shakes his head, taking a step away from the windowsill and choosing not to answer Kakashi’s question. Instead, he looks up and meets the quiet, suddenly guarded stare, habitually focusing on the dark eye and ignoring the swirl of Sharingan.

Tenzou keeps his hands on his sides, resisting the sudden urge to cross them across his chest. “I hope you understand. We good, senpai?”

Kakashi sets his empty glass down, eyes carving up into crescents. “Of course.”

Tenzou dips his head in a silent gesture of thanks, takes a step back and puts distance between himself and Kakashi. It’s too much to be in his presence, the acidic taste of what almost feels like abandonment thickly coating Tenzou’s tongue. He picks up his hoodie from the bedroom and shunshins himself out to the street, zipping it up and throwing the hood on, immersing himself in the crowd and standing under the spill of firelight burning in the sky.

Around him, the festivities continue, people coming and going, his  body moving with the laughing, cheerful crowd.

Tenzou wants to say he feels better, having corrected the thing that messed up his arrangement with Iruka.

He doesn’t.

Perhaps it is good timing and sheer luck that Crane finds him in the crowd, standing there as people brush past her, like her presence isn’t visible at all.

“The Hokage needs you,” she says.

Tenzou hopes that his quick shunshin betrays little of his magnanimous relief.

  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's everything I have including minimally rewritten shit that I had written months ago, and now I'm stuck again. 
> 
> Any update is better than no update.
> 
> IDEK, ideas to get unstuck are welcome. Feel free to rant. I'm a little frustrated myself ugh fuck this chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta. May have missed shit.
> 
> Come say hi @ tumblr: pinkcatharsis

Tsunade’s pointed look and cocked eyebrow should have been Tenzou’s warning.  
  
“Well, you look like shit.” It’s an unmitigated admonishing wrapped in general concern. Tsunade’s gaze slides off Tenzou in favor of opening a secured drawer open, pulling out a dossier that she pushes across the table. “And to think a few days ago, you had wanted an assignment. Should I be concerned?”  
  
“No, Hokage-sama.” Tenzou dips his chin just the smallest bit, a chastised gesture because he should have known better than to think that he can put it past Tsunade to no realize that something was off. It isn’t like Tenzou’s been neglecting himself; he’s been meticulously maintaining a strict scheduled routine, even though he wakes up poorly rested and food still tastes like ash in his mouth. In what is almost a sheepish gesture, Tenzou reaches up with a hand to rub the back of his head, tugging the hood of his sweater down with the motion.  
  
Tsunade simply hums, throwing Tenzou another pointed look before she laces her fingers together under her chin. “Well, you’re getting what you want. T&I has provided intelligence that requires confirmation. As you know, the skirmishes outside our gates have not stopped; we’ve already lost too many lives in casualties alone. After Orochimaru and Akatsuki, we can’t afford to lose more. I’m sending you back to Snow.”  
  
Tsunade pushes a scroll across her table. Tenzou accepts it, quickly scanning through the contents. It’s another undercover mission, except this had to be severely air tight. There’s a high chance that it’d be a dead end again and with the Chuunin exams looming around the corner, Tenzou looks up at Tsunade with doubt in his eyes.  
“Hokage-sama…”  
  
Tsunade sighs, dipping her head down to press her forehead over he knuckles. Like this, she looks tired, fraying a bit at the edges. Tenzou can’t imagine the weight she must carry, especially with her forces dwindling, more so when Konoha is trying to remain strong. “We won’t be defenseless. That’s one of three places where intel is being shared. I know what you’re thinking; we aren’t so defenseless yet.” Tsunade leans back into her chair briefly before she stands to look out the village. “I’ve pulled ANBU retirees back into the active roster. Just until your team, Boar and Viper returns. Someone is leaking information about our operations; it needs to stop.”  
  
Tenzou dips his head in understanding – T&I has narrowed down their issue to something more in-house. In a way, Tenzou thinks he should be surprised; after Orochimaru, Kabuto and so hundreds before him, he can’t say he is. “I understand, Hokage-sama.”  
  
This mission, at the very least, ought to channel his energy and frustrations in a more productive manner. It’ll give him something else to study and be concerned about, something to focus on rather than the warmth his arms crave and alluringly sweet and heady scent of orange and cinnamon tea. After all, if someone really is deliberately falsifying his loyalty for personal gain, then the worthless sack of flesh has chosen to sink into the worst depth any shinobi can choose to descend in.  
  
Traitors, after all, don’t deserve to breathe under the shade of Konoha’s trees.  
  
Tenzou turns to leave, but stops when Tsunade’s voice carries across the office. “Oh and Tenzou, try to get some sleep before you leave, I need you at your sharpest. I don’t need to remind you that I would preferably, want this mission completed before the six week timeframe allocated? We’re short on luxuries here.”  
  
Tenzou stiffens before he can stop himself; he masks the action by tugging the hood over his head once more, cheeks warming at the admonishing.  
  
“No, Hokage-sama. I understand your priorities.”

*  
  
The next morning, Tenzou calls for an urgent meeting with his team in a small corner office at the headquarters, with none of them in their uniform.  
  
Judging by Stag’s state of dress, it would seem that Tenzou has interrupted him in the middle of a family breakfast. There is a very faint smell of miso clinging to the sleeves of his dark gray yukata. Tenzou knows that Namiashi Ryuu takes his dad-duties very seriously when he’s in the village, that he dotes on his only daughter, taking every possible opportunity to show photos of her first walk, her first time holding a spoon, her first smile and countless others firsts to anyone who asks and is willing to listen. Stag matches Tenzou in broadness with the exception of two inches in additional height. Patches of discolored skin peeks out from the slight rumpled parting of his yukata, a result of a misfortunate accident with poison. Outside of his mask and uniform, there is always a haggard sort of air hanging about Ryuu peppered with a hint of dorky-naiveté, like he’s just spent the past hour or so chasing after his daughter in a dusty field for no reason other than because he didn’t know how to manage her, and when called into duty, had done nothing more but give himself a quick dust off, finger brushing dry ended wavy dark hair back and reigning in the toothy smile that is always on his face when he isn’t being Stag.  
  
Stag is the last to come in, a touch late and looking a little sheepishly apologetic, “Sorry, everyone.”  
  
Tenzou shakes his head dismissing the apology. He didn’t like cutting into time with family, tries to avoid it as much as he can if he is able.  
  
From the corner of the room – Sparrow - Hyuuga Chiharu straightens from where she is perched under the window, straightening her standard issue uniform. Outside the mask and armor, Sparrow passes off as an adolescent trying to be a grown up. She’s all soft features, narrow shoulders and long brown hair customary of the Hyuuga clan that she always keep in a tight braid. Had it not been for the eerie blankness of her eyes, the stark red, jagged scar cutting across her neck like a choker, and crumpled burnt skin on the back of her left hand, Chiharu could pass off for a porcelain doll – all she had to do is stand so still.  
  
“We weren’t here long,” Sparrow says, voice deep for someone of her petite size.  
  
A soft hum leaves Raccoon – Yamanaka Kosuke – the youngest member of the team, lean and wiry, with longer fingers and eyes as vividly green as the treetops of Konoha in spring. Whether he had the uniform on or not, Kosuke always stands straight backed like he’s an official guard in the daimyo’s court, the kind that kept his chin as smooth as a ten year old because he shaved every morning with a clean cut razor as opposed to a disposable razor. His blonde hair remains short cropped, but long enough not to be rebellious. Raccoon is neat, orderly, everything about him pristine, just like how he takes down his targets and his deadly accuracy with the bow and senbon.  
  
Tenzou gives his team a bit of a helpless shrug, unfurling the scroll from his pocket on the table for all of them to read. “We’re going back to snow.” He points at the mission parameters. “And it’s going to be our all-time favorite type of mission. Prison. Except this is a diamond mine.”  
  
Tenzou teammates’ mannerism shifts in a blink of an eye. It’s like they’re in their uniforms and masks, even when they’re in festive, casual clothing or a jounin uniform. Gone is Stag’s easy go-lucky-dad attitude, gone is Sparrow’s air of demure reservation, gone is Raccoon’s almost arrogant air. What stands around the table are three well seasoned ANBU under Tenzou’s command, scanning the information and putting whatever personal business they may have had before they stepped into the office.  
  
“Reliable or so-so intel?” Raccoon asks, eyebrows narrowing as he continues to read.  
  
“We’ll know when we get there.” Tenzou spreads out a map and points a rendezvous point, two nights run away from the prison they’re about to spend the rest of the horrid winter in.  
  
“It’s as good as prison, taichou,” Sparrow says, milky eyes glossing over the details. “It’s run by Saito Industries. They do not cut corners with their hired shinobi. Saitou hires the best to keep watch over the miners.”  
  
“It’s a good thing we’re not there for diamonds, then. It’s their security. Someone’s been feeding Sound our shinobi and missions roster. T&I got as far as deducing that this may be one of the feeding points considering that Saito Industries has recently switched security contracts with Sound instead of their usual go-to, Rock and Cloud.” Tenzou shrugs. “We’re only there to confirm and rule out possibilities.” Tenzou’s gaze tracks towards the team gathered around the table, taking note of the resignation in Stag’s eyes and the soft sigh that leaves Sparrow and Raccoon. “We’ll leave in two days at dawn. So enjoy festivities while you can.”  
  
The team disperses without complaint – tools of the trade, there’s really nothing they can do about it.  
  
*  
  
Tenzou had no intention of spending time enjoying the last day of the festivities. He didn’t even want to be a part of it at all when everything about it stirs the image of Iruka in his mind.  
  
But staying in his apartment had only served to remind him of how he had ended things with Kakashi. His living room remains shrouded in shadows, the blinds drawn, with nothing but the very faint smell of Kakashi’s scent hanging in the air and clinging to the sheets that had been stripped from the bed and dumped into the hamper in the corner of the room. Kakashi had left the bottle of whiskey on the counter, the two glasses in the sink unwashed, a reminder of the conversation that had gone between them, a remembrance of just how it might have come across – betrayal, abandonment, dishonest.  
  
(But Kakashi should understand. He, of all people, knows love more than anyone Tenzou can think of.)  
  
Tenzou spends no more than thirty minutes airing out the apartment, doing inventory and preparing his travel pack while the washing machine hums with everything that Kakashi may have touched spinning in a swirl of hot water and soap suds.  
  
Only when the flap of his travel pack clicks shut does Tenzou slips his shoes back on, zips up the jacket and tugs the hood over his head, stepping into the crisp, cool autumn breeze that carries fine drops, each one a promise of the rain to come. Tenzou cranes his neck above to catch clouds lazily being drifted away by the newly chilled air, streaks of brilliance piercing through the cracks from a patiently setting sun. Tenzou pauses about a block away from the quiet bar where he intends to spend the rest of evening relaxing and nursing a bottle of sake with a plate of dinner he had full intention of consuming this time around. Lanterns remain hung over head, criss-crossing along the street, yet another reminder of the unrestrained joy that still shows in the excited, bustling groups of a teenagers crowding around vendors and musicians, of couples dressed in their finest threads and children still wearing colored masks, swinging round lanterns with Konoha’s fire symbol painted in striking black paint.  
  
Even though the main celebration has long ended, people continue to rejoice, an open memento to Konoha’s oneness, a good time to be alive when not so long ago, a beast with nine tails had almost eradicated all of Konoha.  
  
Tenzou a spares the gaggle of children and young adults cheer on a street magician a short glance before he steps into the bar that curves into the room, the space dark and sparsely lit. The place reeks of cigarette smoke, beer and a certain dampness that is between sour and sweet, sallow light from the street lamps trickling into the diamonds of the wooden panes. It’s a place most shinobi prefer to be at if they’re looking to be alone for the evening over a few glasses of beer or strong liquor, only to end up heading out with someone; hardly anyone who walks in ends up leaving alone. Places like this aren’t exactly known for its cleanliness and always-waiting staff; it does however, offers privacy despite the large windows.  
  
Tenzou happens to come upon this place because he is fond of the meals. The owner happens to be a retired ANBU who had chosen to put the skill she had acquired in a deep undercover mission as a chef to good use. Tenzou picks a corner, away from most of the crowd, and orders a beer and the house special.  
  
A place like this, despite it catering to individuals craving for solitude, is still a den of debauchery amongst shinobi, a few of the bolder locals, alcoholism, and to put kindly, the great unwashed of the village. It isn’t by far, the most popular place to go for such encounters if desired – there are several others that are better for that kind of company. It is why Tenzou chooses this place, because he knows better than to think anyone he knows or is acquainted with would come here for anything remotely wholesome. Everyone he knows would either hop on over to the Silver Swan where beauty and choices comes in abundance or the Golden Barrel right next door, where the slightly darker, if not bolder, kinkier choices happen to lurk.  
  
(Tenzou doesn’t think he’d step into the Silver Swan again – not when it reminds him of the first time he met Iruka, wracked in grief that with time, Tenzou had watched disappeared. He had a hand in alleviating that grief, only to replace it with something worse.)  
  
He expects to not be bothered at all as Tenzou keeps his head down and starts revising the details of the long trip ahead in his mind.  
  
Which is why, to say that Tenzou is surprised when warm beer starts to seep as he instinctively reaches out to steady the person who had all but bumped into him just as he had stood from his chair to leave after his meal, is an understatement.  
  
Warmth blooms under Tenzou’s fingertips as skin and soft, deep, wine red cotton press into his palms. Under the fall of long brown hair, tips curling under a slackened with surprise jaw, eyes the color of the earth after a torrential rain widens in surprise, startled – except it slowly melts into something unnaturally feigned. Something else burns under the hood that suddenly sweeps over those eyes like a veil, glistening like a piece of copper coin being examined in the warmth next to raging flames, licking away at the barriers that contain them within a fireplace. This veil, however, fails at trying to hold secrets within, not when the gleam of something fiery gold burns so bright in a mixture of anger, bitterness, shock and under it all, something wholesome and homely like joy and a love unrestrained.  
  
Iruka is so fucking beautiful that Tenzou forgets to breathe.  
  
Wrapped in his yukata with a splash of gold and green peacock feathers tapering off from the sleeves and bottom hem, Tenzou forgets that there is a world around him as his hands steadies Iruka on his feet, a hand gripping the beer glass that has all but spilled all over Tenzou’s arm, dripping all over the sticky floor, his other hand steadying Iruka by the shoulder.  
  
“Shinobi-san…” Iruka murmurs, soft and breathless, the same way he’d always say Tenzou’s name after he’s been gone for so long, a pink tongue darting out to wet suddenly dry lips.  
  
Lips that Tenzou misses, lips that would no doubt be just as sweet and soft as Tenzou remembers. The attempt at playing strangers doesn’t sway Tenzou in the slightest, not when Iruka is this close, not when Tenzou’s lungs is suddenly filling with that wonderful scent of cinnamon spiced tea, or that refreshing splash of fresh oranges. Not when Iruka is so incredibly warm under his palms, the heat of his body barely contained by the soft cotton fabric.  
  
Gods, I miss you, Tenzou wants to say.  
  
(He almost says it, desperate words solidifying at the tip of his tongue.)  
  
But suddenly there are voices cutting into the cloudy haze Iruka brings with him and Tenzou is stepping back, forcing his tightening fingers to let go when Iruka’s friends appear – Hagane Kotetsu and Kamikuzi Izumo, gate guards and mission room staff member, Tenzou recognizes, both equally dressed in yukatas. They apologize on Iruka’s behalf, stuttered and slurred words, while Iruka, who is still mute keeps staring at him. Iruka, who then swallows dryly, whose eyes slide away to drag walls back up with a sheepish smile, dimples barely showing because there isn’t anything remotely sincere with the smile that he forces on. Tenzou is left with a dripping glass in his hand, as everything in him joins the spilt mess on the floor when Iruka finally turns to look at him, with walls as thick as prison lead.  
  
The weight of that look burns, scorches something so deep in Tenzou that it takes everything in him to stay still and carefully blank-faced.  
  
“Please excuse my clumsiness, Shinobi-san.” Iruka dips his head in an apology, back rigid with ice, even when color splashes over his face and neck. Color, Tenzou knows, that would radiate all the way down his chest, feathering off somewhere over his stomach.  
  
“No harm done,” Tenzou dismisses, setting the glass down on the table and snagging a few napkins to dab at his hands and soaking sleeve.  
  
“Forgive our friend, Shinobi-san. He was just so excited to meet our new friend~” Kotetsu slurs a little tipsily, exploding into giggles when Izumo elbows him, putting a stop to the suggesting wiggle of his eyebrows at someone behind him.  
  
Tenzou crumples the yellowed napkins on the table, following the line of Kotetsu’s gaze, meeting familiar piercing blue eyes boring into his with an unreadable expression. Everything in Tenzou’s stomach turns almost hideously, his dinner threatening to rise past his throat, as a former ANBU teammate’s unreadable expression melts away to that disarming, feigned innocence he tends to wear as a cover in public.  
  
It isn’t that Tenzou had any issues with Owl, per se.  
  
But saying that he enjoyed being in Kurosawa Hiro’s company is too tolerant of a statement if only because Hiro is a hard to read person. He’s reserved, quiet, almost always pulled taut like a cocked bowstring, like he’s ready to fight or run. Hiro is as broad as Tenzou, with only half an additional inch in height. At a glance, it sufficed to say that no one feature makes Hiro handsome, or head turning for that matter. It’s easy for him to blend into the crowd if he chooses, easy for him to keep his head down despite his built.  
  
His eyes, however, comes close to being called handsome.  
  
They’re a striking blue, framed by thick dark lashes, the kind that would look beautiful under any shade, a pop of color in the dark, a gleam in the shadows – Tenzou remembers Hiro saying years ago, when Tenzou had first worked with him, that the Sandaime had found it apt to bestow the mask of Owl on him. Hiro had chuckled then, something small and almost earnest – Tenzou would go as far as calling it gentle, disarming, had it not been for the intense, laser focused gleam in those azure irises. Only a fool would believe that Hiro isn’t alert, even when he keeps his arms crossed around his middle and shoulder-blade length dark tresses in a messy bun at the top of his head often; Tenzou knows it’s nothing but a falsified insecure body language.  
  
Every ANBU had a quirk like that. It’s almost a standard pre-requisite, to be something else when in the village proper.  
  
But Tenzou knows that under all that, Hiro is a force to be reckoned with. It’s there in the scars and burn marks that Tenzou knows are tucked under the standard issue dark shirt Owl currently wears, in the swell of his large knuckles and slightly hooded expression he remembers Owl had whenever the white mask came off.  
  
Owl is a master marksman, quite skilled with a spear; it’s a skill that makes him stand out a little more than others, when his family comes from a background of farmers that were a casualty of the Kyuubi attack all those years ago – a no name family, some would say. Owl had no one, is as broken as anyone else who remains tucked under ANBU’s umbrella for so long and probably the reason he slotted into the lifestyle so easily.  
  
But Tenzou knows ow Owl works; Owl is messy, is volatile under all that control, with a penchant for extreme violent behavior and rough handling. Tenzou remembers not exactly liking him, if only because Owl liked to mouth off and cause a lot of trouble with his rebellious attitude, something that had gotten him into multiple psych evaluations and reassigned from one ANBU captain to another. Tenzou can’t say he hates the guy.  
  
But he can’t, with a clear conscience say, that Owl is a good guy. Not when Tenzou knows he had a partner waiting for him back home. Owl may be loyal to Konoha, but he clearly isn’t loyal to his partner.  
  
Owl waggles his fingers at Iruka and his friends, rubbing the back of his head a little sheepishly. Tenzou doesn’t bother to acknowledge Owl beyond a blink, because they aren’t supposed to be really familiar with each other in a setting like this.  
  
“Like I said, no harm done.” Tenzou dismisses, a little coldly, a little too sharply as he gives Iruka a domineering glance, wishing with every fiber of his being that Iruka wouldn’t go over there to say hi, because in a place like this, a hi is never anything respectable. A hi, in a place like this, is a prelude to bruises and hitched breaths, pleasure and sloppy kisses in the dark.  
  
“Thank you for understanding. Once more, my sincerest apologies,” Iruka murmurs.  
  
“Enjoy the rest of your night,” Tenzou says, measured and calm, as he nods at the trio, his gaze sweeping over Iruka one last time before he turns and leaves as unhurriedly as he can manage, sparing Owl nothing more than a customary glance on his way out.  
  
It’s a clean exit.  
  
But under his ribs, Tenzou’s heart thunders with a swirling storm gaining momentum. Each step towards his apartment fuels an anger he didn’t realize he had been capable of experiencing, a bitterness so palpable that it makes everything in his stomach slosh like riproaring waves slamming on to a boat deck lost at sea. In the cover of his apartment, as the sound of his uncharacteristically loud pacing footsteps cuts through the eerie silence, Tenzou’s breathing starts to come out a little heavily, deep exhalations from his nose, faltering through the narrowed parting of his lips, as if he’s trying to breathe through a wound that is bleeding out.  
  
Kurosawa Hiro is going to touch Iruka. He’s going to unwrap Iruka like a fucking present, tug at the hair tie that’s holding Iruka’s hair up in a half bun, spill thick silky strands over a slender neck. Kurosawa Hiro’s tongue is going to taste something sweet just under Iruka’s ear, around the hollows of his throat, his teeth leaving marks all over smooth, soft skin, warming under his mouth and gods, Iruka — Iruka is going to come undone slowly, unravel like the fabric sliding down his shoulders, the stuttered sighs and syllables of a fucking stranger’s name brushing past his lips towards the ceiling like a relieved prayer, like he’s know this stranger all his life, their bodies fitting perfectly -- Iruka would respond like he’s a lover, not a man looking for a quick, mindless fuck because when it comes to Iruka, his passion, his warmth, his unbridled need doesn’t come in halves.  
  
Iruka would give every part of him in those precious few minutes.   
  
Tenzou comes to a halt by the windowsill, palms pressing down on the wooden frame so hard as he pictures the look on Iruka’s face when Hiro presses into him, fills Iruka with his cock, when Hiro takes something so beautiful, too pure for the likes of him – him, who in his own way, is a goddamn traitor. Hiro, the filthy fucking liar fucking Umino Iruka like Iruka is property to be owned, when Iruka is a man who deserves everything good in the world.  
  
Kurosawa Hiro is going to be putting his cock, into Iruka’s body. When Kurosawa Hiro, belongs to someone else. Has someone else. He is going to split Iruka wide open, make him cry out, pound into that tight heat, use Iruka’s body like it’s his god given right, use Iruka’s mouth, touch him, touch him, touchhim, touchhim, touchhim, markhim, markhim, markhim –  
  
Wood splinters and cracks, just as the line of cacti goes flying across the room in a vicious, violent swipe.  
  
Tenzou stares out at the village, eyes hard like black diamonds, jaw grinding and teeth bared as an enraged hiss flows out from between his clenched teeth.  
  
Kurosawa Hiro didn’t deserve Iruka.  
  
No scum of the earth does.  
  
*  
  
Tenzou dreams of blood and carnage. He dreams of Owl turning into a traitor of Konoha, selling secrets for whatever shortage he had in his soul. It’s how he wakes up a little before dawn, sweat sticking to his skin and breathing harshly in the dark, suffocating shadows of his empty bedroom.  
  
The funny thing about it all, is that hypothetically, if Owl really did happen to betray to Konoha, Tenzou is suddenly hyper-aware that he’ll take great pleasure in ending the son of a bitch’s life with his bare hands.  
  
It’s a realization comes easy, with a twisted kind of pleasure that is far too foreign.  
  
Tenzou can’t say he hates killing, nor can he say he derives any pleasure from it. Killing has always been about completing a mission. Killing has always been impersonal, whether it is a newborn, a toddler, man, woman or elderly, none of that had mattered.  
  
But Kurosawa Hiro, well, Tenzou thinks, now that’s one kind of traitor he’d want to rip flesh from bone with his own fingers.  
  
There’s something alarming about that realization, a sort of bias that may just be a large red flag because in reality, at most, Kurosawa Hiro is nothing more than a cheat to his own partner. That if there is anyone who should be gauging those pretty, bright blue eyes right out of his skull, it should be none other than Kurosawa Hiro’s partner. It certainly would be less than what he deserved.   
  
And what’s even more foreignly alarming about it all, is that Tenzou didn’t give a flying fuck as he changes into his uniform, is that the urge to pummel down Kurosawa Hiro’s face to an unrecognizable pulp doesn’t leave Tenzou for days, even when Konoha is acres behind them.  
  
The dream of killing Owl, doesn’t disappear either.   
  
After all, Iruka deserves better than the cock of that good for nothing, lying, little shit of a fucking pretty boy.  
  
*  
  
On nights when Tenzou lies on his bedroll, bundled under a thermal blanket, staring up at the moon, he wonders if he could be what Iruka deserves.  
  
Loyal, dedicated -- he’d want no one else but Iruka. He’d come home to only Iruka. He’d fuck only Iruka. He’d give what little he had of himself, his earnings, and his meager two syllable first name that’s about as good as a nobody to Iruka with both hands like an offering to a deity.  
  
He wouldn’t lie to Iruka – never again.  
  
He would never betray Iruka.  
  
They’d have a good life together, surrounded by children, as many as Iruka wants to adopt -- Tenzou would do it all for him if it means waking up to Iruka’s smile and arms every day for the rest of his life.  
  
But then dawn would break over the horizon, Tenzou would remember that he hurt Iruka. Betrayed Iruka even when there isn’t exactly a reason for him to feel bad about their arrangement, when it had been a mutual agreement, that if anything, Iruka really had no business going about falling in love with ANBU – of all things – because Iruka should know better. He must know better.  
  
Tenzou would remember that he isn’t exactly better at all. That if anything, perhaps he never will be.   
  
(After all, not only did he hurt Iruka, he has, more or less, turned his back on Kakashi, too.)  
  
But at least I’m no traitor, the little voice inside him would whisper.  
  
The statement, however whisper-soft, brings no comfort whatsoever.  
  
*  
  
They reach their hiding point in the glacial peaks a little under ten days later, nursing ruddy noses and flushed cheeks. Tenzou sets up a small cabin overlooking the mines tens of kilometers ahead, where black smoke rises from within the frigid white sahara. Raccoon is tasked with setting up the protective barrier around the small cabin, a skill set he is quite proficient with, and part of the reason Tenzou liked having him on the team. Sparrow may be a Hyuuga, but her survival cuts down by a large margin if she is spotted and overwhelmed in numbers. 

  
The rest of the afternoon is spent with Raccoon sealing Stag’s chakra first, and then Tenzou’s, the uniforms stripped down and tucked away in favor of gray, thick woolen tunics and pants. They spend their last evening going through their strategy. Stag would be dispatched first, with Raccoon disguised as one of the hired shinobi at sunrise when the newcomers are usually brought in. They will both be planted as a common thief, will be punished for it with probably a few lashes, and then put to work immediately. Tenzou will follow in the afternoon, roughly around the time the guards make their rounds in the perimeter, to make sure there are no prowlers trying to get rich by trespassing and digging illegally on private property.  
  
They eat a quiet dinner, while Sparrow takes first watch.  
  
In the small space of the cabin, Tenzou watches the wind blow outside with specs of white snow staining the sky like confetti. Beside him, Owl lies awake too, unable to sleep. Tenzou dismisses it as pre-mission jitters, something to be expected considering one’s chakra is practically non-existent and their vulnerability increases tenfold.  
  
“This isn’t meant to sound like a complaint,” Stag says, sighing a little softly. “But a part of me already wishes that we find the person who may be spilling what to who. And end it.”  
  
Tenzou’s lips twitches into a show of amusement. “Don’t pretend. I know you love the cold weather, and me leading you into dead end searches.”  
  
“Like it was only yesterday.” Stag shifts in his lying position, huffing a soft sound of amusement. “At the risk of sounding nosy, Taichou, but you don’t look too good. Are you sure you’re up to doing this? Between Raccoon and I…”  
  
It takes everything in Tenzou to just remain still and uncaring. “I don’t look too good?”  
  
Even in the dark, the flush that dusts over the ridge of Stag’s nose is bright red. “You haven’t been. For a while. It’s not any of our business, we know, but - ah —“ Stag pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment. “We’re just concerned about you, that’s all. God knows Hyuuga won’t say it. And Yamamana is too fucking shy.”  
  
From the other side of the room, Tenzou catches sight of Raccoon’s shadow shifting; he didn’t look very comfortable. Which leaves Tenzou unsure on how to react to Stag’s statement, isn’t even sure what the correct approach would be to mitigate his team’s concerns. Kakashi certainly had noticed something was off, but then again, Kakashi knows Tenzou a little too well. If anything, Tenzou had spent a good chunk of his life around Kakashi on and off the field. To find that his team is able to perceive that there’s been a change in his mannerisms, means that Tenzou has been sloppy. He’s been slipping with his keeping everything contained and it shows in the embarrassment of the team for even bringing it up; after all, instability is something all ANBU must be diligent in reporting to their superiors.  
Tenzou knows his team is good.  
  
It’s not their fault they’re perceptive and know how to read him — if anything, Tenzou knows he had to get his shit together.   
  
(He needs to stop thinking about Iruka.)  
  
Tenzou settles for a small amused huff, shaking his head and ignoring while addressing the concern.   
  
“Let’s just try to get this mission over and done with. The sooner we confirm that no one is spilling secrets, the sooner we get to go home, the sooner you can be with your families.” Tenzou closes his eyes, his throat suddenly dry. “Heavens knows I’m getting sick and tired of Snow.”  
  
Stag snorts, which is quickly followed by Raccoon’s slightly high pitched wheezing, a poor attempt at smothering his laughter — judging by the reaction, they’re probably remembering the old rumor that flies around ANBU that Cat turns to a sad tree-stump during winter.  
  
The act holds because Stag turns to face the wall and falls asleep in minutes, the small cabin bathing in complete silence as the winds outside continues to blow stronger.  
Tenzou gets no sleep.  
  
He pretends not to notice Sparrow’s quiet concerned glance when he waves her over to get some rest as he takes the next watch.   
  
*  
  
They infiltrate the mines easily and for their efforts, Tenzou gets fifty lashes on his back. The lack of rest and overall fatigue makes him sees black spots around the corners of his visions by the fortieth lash.  
  
Tenzou thinks of Iruka and his soft, smooth hands against his neck, his words to fight strong echoing softly in his ears, as the lashes continue to come down.  
  
Tenzou makes it through all fifty, gets shoved to a corner with a pick and a slightly dilapidated bucket before he’s manhandled by a Sound shinobi and told to get back to work.  
  
*  
  
Sometimes, at night, as he lies in the small huts Saito Industries have set up a kilometer away from the mine, in the dying embers of the small fireplace, Tenzou imagines he’s bundled by Iruka’s couch, lying on his favorite pineapple shaped cushion.   
  
He can almost smell the faint lemon scent of Iruka’s cleaning detergent, the sweet spice of the steaming cup of tea cooling on the table, and the fresh burst of oranges that would come and go every time Iruka would reach up and tug at his drying hair, as the sound of his pen continues to glide over his student’s workbooks.  
  
When morning comes, Tenzou can almost hear Iruka whisper, “Good morning~”  
  
It’s enough to give Tenzou the strength to continue his hunt for something that might not even be there.  
  
*  
  
On the second week, when Tenzou had tried to help a elderly man lift a bucket full of diamonds because his swollen hands had not been able to, he gets accused of trying to steal and gets twenty lashes for taking pity on someone he shouldn’t have.  
  
The old man too, gets another twenty lashes.  
  
Tenzou never sees that old man again.  
  
He can put two and two together — he probably didn’t survive through the trauma or the cold.  
  
*  
  
By the fourth week, Tenzou is starting to really doubt that this is a drop off point for information. He’s been monitoring the activity, keeping track of who comes in, and who leaves. Stag confirms that he had found nothing to add either.  
  
The annoyance at the realization that it’s another dead end mission sweeps over Tenzou like a blizzard.   
  
They do another sweep of the area, and conclude that it’s time to go home.  
  
*  
  
On the night before they make their escape, Tenzou’s fingers brush against some puss from the wounds on his back. It’s probably a good thing that they’re leaving because Tenzou didn’t want an infection or a fever slowing them down on their journey. Which is why his temper nearly undoes him at the seams when come a few hours before dawn, right before they’re about to slip out, Tenzou’s body is suddenly heavy with a feverish ache, his head pounding and his throat starting to hurt. Breathing becomes difficult and messy, with the flu making his eyes water and his skin flush a darker red.  
  
A part of him is still surprised that they even made it out, what with how Stag is practically dragging him halfway across the snow towards their cabin. Raccoon helps in dressing the wounds on his back and after two soldier pills, and his chakra coursing back on his veins, Tenzou plots the quickest course back to Konoha.  
  
There is mild protest from the team, little glances amongst them that Tenzou knows pertains to his current state.  
  
He tells them to move out and not stop until they’ve reached Lightning.  
  
*  
  
The journey starts to get a little arduous by the time they cross out of Lightning’s borders and in to Bear. Tenzou is flushed with fever, his head heavy and unable to focus on what’s ahead of him. They set up camp inside a cave, with Raccoon setting up barriers and traps to keep their presence hidden. Tenzou is out like a lightbulb before the fire can even go up. He sleeps through the night and halfway through the day, thinking of clear skies and a spread of green.   
  
Iruka would be on break by now, probably taking more shifts at the desk and doing missions, maybe even undergoing some new training, practicing skills he doesn’t get to practice because of all his time spent at the Academy. Iruka always looked good when he looked strong.  
  
Tenzou wakes up slowly when Sparrow shakes him.  
  
The team doesn’t tell him that he’s slept for two days; he finds out the hard way just as they finally enter Fire, when Raccoon corrects his count on their travel dates.  
Tenzou had wanted to get angry, but finds that he is too worn to bother; he lets it slide, grateful for the extra day’s rest.  
  
*  
  
“Taichou, we’ve got incoming forty kilometers east. It’s Asuma-san and his team. Also, eighty kilometers south west —“ Sparrow stops all of a sudden, crouching on a tree branch. Their formation halts with her, as the veins around her eyes strains. “Four shinobis are engaging two others; there’s a —“  
  
Sparrow words are cut off when the treetops suddenly rustles. In the sky, several birds take flight as the earth trembles lightly.  
  
There’s a sudden pop of chakra, familiar in its signature because Tenzou recognizes it as a distress signal.   
  
“That’s one of ours. How many hostiles?” Tenzou prompts.  
  
“Two,” Sparrow confirms.   
  
“Let’s go.” Tenzou leaps ahead, cutting through the whitened treetops towards the scene of the battle.   
  
Smoke clouds the surrounding area, weapons lying scattered along with burnt and severed body parts that could belong to either friend or foe. Thick smoke rises up to the cloudy, gray sky as Tenzou and his team leaps over the carnage and finds nothing but bodies lying like broken marionettes. Whoever attacked Konoha shinobi made sure that none were alive. The attackers are gone by the time they enter the clearing of shattered earth and bloodied snow — Stag sets the signal out, coloring the gray skies in red, a beacon to any ANBU unit nearby to be on high alert, to pursue and detain any and all foreign shinobis currently within Konoha’s borders.   
  
Protocol dictates that all ANBU assisting other teams must prioritize the safety of their fellow shinobi first before pursuing attackers.   
  
“This one is still alive,” Raccoon calls out across the field, rolling the body over in the crimson stained snow, channeling chakra into the unmoving shinobi.   
  
“And this one!” Stag echoes, rolling another body in the snow.  
  
Tenzou turns from the body he’s examining, ready to assist the team in administering field first aid and prep their fellow shinobi for the rest of the journey back, when he takes one look at the cloudy and dilated pupils of the shinobi in Stag’s care and everything in him screeches to a grinding halt.   
  
Staring back at him, with his mouth parting as blood gushes out of pale, blue lips, Iruka gurgles, eyes scrunching shut as he twitches under the glow of green chakra pouring out of Stag’s palms into the vicious open wound in chest. Iruka’s forehead protector is gone, hair free from its ponytail and half his face covered in blood from the head wound. For a brief, horrifying moment, Tenzou thinks he’s seeing things, that maybe it’s his fever making him see someone else.  
  
The mask comes off and Tenzou’s knees hits the bloodied snow as his shaking hands cradles Iruka’s face, brushing bloodied strands so gently away, shaking his head at the image he’s seeing, trying to ward it away because it’s wrong, wrong wrong wrong — Iruka’s face that remains Iruka.   
  
The image doesn’t dissolve.  
  
Iruka’s lips parts to garble out two syllables. The world around Tenzou hushes to a complete silence; Stag’s words are muffled, so is Tenzou’s rank and code name that repeats itself over and over again. From across the field, Raccoon is looking over his shoulder, eyes wide from behind the eye holes of his mask, while the world around Tenzou continues to be engulfed by a distant ring echoing in his eardrum, getting louder, louder, louder until something, unequivocally, shatters.  
  
“Where are they?” Tenzou asks, calm, soft, barely a whisper as he turns to look at Sparrow. When Sparrow doesn’t respond in half a second, Tenzou’s words come out as sharp as blades, cutting like cold shards of ice.“ _Hyuuga!_ ”  
  
“T-Twenty-eight kilometers north east from here; they’re headed towards the river —“ 

“Get them to the village. Make sure he lives. That’s an order.” Tenzou picks up his mask, pushes two soldier pills into his mouth and runs after the attackers who dares thinks that they can make Iruka bleed and get away with it.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know. I just don’t know anymore. I could probably do better, but well. So. Yeah. Sorry.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am my own beta. May have missed shit.
> 
> Come say hi @ tumblr: pinkcatharsis

_l_ In the wake of Tenzou’s run, for just a brief moment, as he cuts through the thick, jagged bare branched trees spiking into the sky, the wind slackens, as if unwilling to blow without his permission. It’s terrifying, how Tenzou focuses on nothing else but the hunt  
ahead of him. It’s frightening, the bloodlust that tastes as bitter as poison.

There is no sign of life to be found anywhere in what would have been a welcoming, stretch of lush greenery. No breath, no sound, nothing but the thickening shadows as the darkened winter skies dyes the thick tree trunks an inky black.

There is only this:

A reckoning force cuts through the shadows, making the air and clouds in the sky to collide and collapse onto each other, blocking out what is left of the sun in what looks like a storm coming in from the west. There is no fire in Tenzou’s chest, no rage that burns  
hot and dies fast, for there to be such an inferno would mean that there would be cold ashes around him for anyone willing to cross such a distance to reach him. Fire would mean that there still lies hope to listen to reason, for calmness, for the earth to heal and wind to blow the ashy gray away, clear the debris and make green flourish once more should forgiveness manage to creep into what remains of Tenzou’s heart.

It’s hard to imagine forgiveness, when all Tenzou can see in his mind are possibilities and a dead end that would mean white lilies, another name on the stone, black robes and somber faces, a result of having a massive hole where bone, flesh and heart once lay whole – flail chest, pneumothorax, thoracic trauma, pulmonary trauma, esophageal  
perforation, aortic injury, heart contusion, laryngeal fracture, the list of possibilities,  
symptoms that are a result of where he should hit the hardest, data he’s memorized from years ago, goes on and on and on – no, there is no fire.

There is only ice, as clear as polished crystal, a frozen fury that _burns_.

All reason and rationale cannot exist in this barren, cold earth, where nothing can grow and everything remains in stasis under the cold. There is no mission, there is no purpose, there is only carnage.

Carnage that follows when the rest of Tenzou’s vision burns white, when his palms come together to form seals and his feet causes tidal waves to rise like a monster in the river when he catches up and _slams_ his blade into the liver of the first shinobi he sees. There is only trees writhing, of pained groans and screams tearing past the throats of two Sound shinobi – young, nubile, with innocence still in their cheeks, even when their eyes bleeds into inky black and their skin hardens into scales the color of a raging fire. Tenzou is deaf to the screams that echo like a banshee’s cry, numb as he tears through one of them, hammering rain from Suiton and firing a salvo of mokuton bullets – thousands of them, maybe millions of them, as black as the forest that blankets in the sky, like locusts invading and consuming.

They’re monsters, human experiments, nothing different from all the previous attackers and prisoners Konoha had caught during the ongoing skirmishes beyond their gates.

But Tenzou is a monster too, perhaps the biggest one there is out of all the ones grown out of a laboratory. He is dangerous because he’s the most stable, the one that lived when all others had failed to mutate, failed to withstand the changes forced upon their  
DNA.

The mask on his face cracks and explodes into a spray of porcelain, when a large, red, scaly tail catches him on the side of the head – it blinds him for a moment, the sheer force of it, as some calculating part of his mind points out that the force alone had to be at least ten-thousand joules in energy, that he. It sends Tenzou flying backwards,  
slamming into trees, blood, teeth, pieces of flesh, pieces of him, falling out of him in a mess in the crimson stained river, pieces of him like pieces of Iruka in the snow, broken, dying, no chance for survival – it’s why Tenzou gave the order that he knows his team will follow but not necessarily to completion.

(He’s seen too many wounds like that over the years – if the bleeding doesn’t kill Iruka first, the journey back to Konoha will.)

The blow is brutal.

No doubt he’d have an orbital fracture. Maybe some eye damage, if he survives this. Several rounds of healing may be required. Red floods his vision. Blinking it away does nothing. Maybe it’s retinal damage, maybe it’s from the head wound, or maybe it’s the  
blood of his enemies. Tenzou doesn’t know, he doesn’t care; his body is worth nothing, his emotions mean nothing.

There is only the mission.

(It hurts. Everything hurts.)

Cat falls to pieces into the snow, fine glimmering shards washing away with sudden the tidal wave mokuton causes when sharp spikes erupts from the bottom of the river, as something savage spills out of Tenzou’s mouth – loud, piercing, deafening in its thirst for vengeance - and the monster lies impaled at the tip of it, blood arching into the sky and washing away with the wrathful waves.

Tenzou remembers falling on his back, remembers his armor cracking, remembers seeing white above him for a long blinding moment that he can’t blink away.

And then the next thing he knows, he’s straddling a monster, the gloves on his hands torn, tattered, battle worn, his armor gone, one eye almost swollen shut from the injury, his face wet as he brings his fists down. One, two, one, two, one two, right in the center of what starts off as a monster with sharp teeth, yellowed dilated pupils, scaly skin,  
but now lies nothing more than mess of red, fruit-like pulp, an overripe summer papaya. The chakra flow to Tenzou’s fists doesn’t stop, and when he starts hitting gravel instead of what once had been a teenager’s face, what once had been blood, flesh, brain, the back of a skull, a hand clamps down sharply on his elbow, pulling his fist back, holding it in place like a prisoner.

It could have been hours later, or maybe even a heartbeat, Tenzou isn’t quite sure how long he stares up at the bewildered white eyes behind a Sparrow’s mask, wild and so very _terrified_.

That’s when time starts to flow right again.

It’s in the wake of his teammate’s mortified look, when everything about Sparrow is as white as her mask, a tremble visible in the grip she had on his elbow.

“He’s still alive.” Sparrow tips her chin towards the shinobi impaled high up from the ground, right in the middle of the calming river. The grip on Tenzou’s elbow tightens in warning. “I’m bringing him in for questioning. Raccoon and Stag have gone ahead. They’ll be informing the Hokage.”

Sparrow bobs up and down; Tenzou realizes that it’s because he’s nodding at her, agreeing to her call. He pulls his arm away from Sparrow’s tight grip and finds no resistance. He stands, knees surprisingly steady as he casts a weary look around the devastation around him. It looks nothing like the forest it had once been, whenever is upended, broken pieces of earth and water, scattered like what’s left of him behind  
barely solid ribs. It’s a complete warzone. The sight of it barely brings any comfort. It doesn’t even quench the thirst in his throat.

“Okay.” Tenzou blinks the crimson out of his eyes, bringing a hand up to swipe the trickle of blood away from his face. Tenzou turns and starts walking towards the general direction of the village.

“Taichou—“

“Get him down. We’ll return together.”

The sound that leaves Tenzou’s  throat is not something he recognizes. His words punctuate an absolute stillness, that not even his footsteps across the shattered earth and snow stirs anything. No water drips from the wet branches, no trickle from the  
slowly calming flow of the river, not a sound could be heard either close at hand or the far off distance. Tenzou’s breath seemed to die as soon as it leaves his mouth in milky mist.

It’s an eerie tranquility, with Tenzou’s senses heightened as opposed to it being soothed now that he had the blood of those responsible in his hands – his world is encased in a coffin, nailed tightly shut with no way out.

He stands there, as still as the branches, watching as Sparrow prepares the unconscious body for transportation. She is silent too, a touch jittery. Tenzou thinks he should feel _something_ for making his teammate witness a part of him he didn’t know even existed.

He finds that he didn’t have anything left in him to care.

  
*

Tenzou and Sparrow arrive in the Hokage’s office after depositing the prisoner at the ANBU headquarters. Stag and Raccoon are sentinels before Tsunade’s desk, unmoving with their masks tucked away. Their eyes widen when Tenzou steps up, when he parrots their team’s report and the dead-end information from the mines. It’s only after he finishes narrating the report he had mentally written almost a week ago that Tenzou realises that he’s dripping a bloody mess all over the office floor.

He can hear the sound of it, crimson droplets hitting wood like rain on the roof.

The sound of it is deafening for some reason, piercing through the ringing noise in Tenzou’s eardrums that still hasn’t left him. Tenzou opens his mouth to report the second half of their journey home, when Tsunade holds a hand up and dismisses the rest of his team. There is a second too long a pause before Sparrow, Raccoon, and Stag all  disappear into a swirl of smoke, leaving Tenzou there staring into Tsunade’s eyes unblinkingly, waiting for a reprimand that is too come.

“Stag tells me you ordered them ahead. That you pursued both attackers,” Tsunade prompts.

“I did,” Tenzou’s voice comes out steady, even when it sounds rather distant in his ears. “They were close enough to pursue. Preservation of life took precedence, hence the call I made.”

“Judging by your state, they were hostile. Do we have enough to work with to at least get some answers?” Tsunade starts to shuffle some of the documents in front of her. Tenzou doesn’t answer immediately and that prompts Tsunade’s manicured fingers to stop, an eyebrow quirking in his direction. “Tenzou?”

“I don’t know.” Tenzou swallows, suddenly feeling like a goddamn fool for an answer that he knows is not good enough.

“You don’t know,” Tsunade parrots, the surprise evident in the slight widening of her eyes, and the very measured blink that follows after.

“They weren’t hostile when I followed them. They only engaged because I –“ Tenzou stops, feeling a sudden chill in his jaw. He doesn’t need a mirror to know that he stumbles in his response, how his lips tremble for just a second before he clamps his jaw shut. It’s an action to reel in some control, when everything in him suddenly starts to shake, like hands are wrapped tight around him, squeezing, squeezing, squeezing, and rattling, rattling, rattling, trying to shake something out of him.

“Tenzou –“

“— I was hostile. As a result, one of the of the attackers is dead; nothing much left of him. They were young, between fifteen to eighteen at most, human experiments, not unlike the ones T&I have retained over the course of the year. There was no way the chuunin team they attacked would have survived them. Their abilities were jounin level. One was alive when Sparrow and I dropped him off at headquarters. You may still be able to get some information out of him,” Tenzou pauses in the frantic spill of words out of his mouth, staring at the strange look on Tsunade’s face, something she hasn’t quite directed at him since her tenure as the Godaime; Tenzou isn’t sure what to make it, but he remembers his manners. “Hokage-sama.”

The pause is too long, heavy with judgment that is like a hundred hot needles piercing into Tenzou’s heel.

“Were they really that skilled that you couldn’t capture them while inflicting minimal damage?” Tsunade’s face is an unreadable.

“I _wanted_ to inflict maximum damage.” I wanted them to hurt, Tenzou doesn’t say out loud. I wanted them to suffer, Tenzou swallows. “One of the survivors of their attack is someone I am close to.”

Tsunade hums in understanding. “I see. I’m going to take the opportunity to remind you the importance of having your list of immediate contacts on your roster updated before you depart for each mission; I’m sure yours only had one name in it and it was neither Hagane Kotetsu or Kamizuki Izumo. So? Which of the two?”

Tsunade momentarily tears her gaze away in favor of scribbling something on a piece of paper, just as everything in Tenzou starts to pulse with panic. The stillness in him shatters, paving way to the sudden thudding of his heart against his ribcage as the realization of what Tsunade is saying sinks in. Bile rises at the back of Tenzou’s throat, his stomach roiling with nausea as he clenches both his bloodied fists at his sides, staring at Tsunade’s eyebrow slowly rising; her lips stopped moving. He begins to hold his breath, unable to trust himself to breathe because breathing might give away the fact that he’s trying not to panic. He had just killed one - or  maybe even two - shinobis who may have had useful information just because he thought he saw someone.

He’s almost afraid to ask if Iruka is even in the village.

(It’s not his place to ask.)

Tenzou opens his mouth to say something, to protest the names that had rolled past Tsunade’s lips, make an attempt to correct her because it was Iruka’s face he saw, Iruka’s face he held, one that wouldn't go away. Tenzou blinks once, twice, then ducks his head to blink rapidly, check if he’s seeing things, or even seeing straight at this point.

“Tenzou.” Tsunade’s voice is firm, and when Tenzou looks  up to meet her gaze, he sees understanding radiating like warm embers in her eyes. “Good job on making sure our shinobi are brought home. Casualties could not be helped, but as always, preservation of life outweighs complete loss. I am going to be keeping you in the village for a while. I am also going to put you on psychological-evaluation; this is not negotiable. Make sure you update your contact information when you formally hand in your report. It would do well to remind your team to do the same.”

Tenzou hears a dismissal and a reprimand. He doesn’t contest it.

“Yes, Hokage-sama…”

*

Tenzou knows this can’t continue, that he had to make a decision and address the situation head on. Ignoring and pretending that Iruka doesn’t affect him isn’t going to gain him any favors. If anything, it’s only going to affect his ability to perform. Denying Iruka is going to be his downfall, paving the way to a road full of poorly executed decisions.

Tenzou knows one thing: he doesn’t want to make mistakes anymore.

In ANBU, there is no room for error. 

It’s two days later, with the wounds and cuts on his back now nothing but new scars, his eye and temple less  swollen but still covered in a bandage, a little after Tenzou hands the official report in that it slots into place what he really needs to do.

It is what he should have done from the beginning. It’s not like the thought had never crossed his mind.

Tenzou picks up new forms to update his personal information and for the first time in what feels like forever, Tenzou is sure about what he’s doing.

*

Iruka goes straight to the hospital once the news had reached him, still a little dusty form his journey back from Water on a messenger run, four days later since Izumo and Kotetsu’s return to the village. What he finds in the stillness of the room are two of his closest friends, lying swathed in bandages, unmoving as the dead under the covers save for the steady rise and fall of the chest of the ventilators, the machined synced to steady heartbeats. Relief fills him, like the first gulp of air after being submerged under water for too long, as Iruka leans heavily against the door that clicks shut, the breath slowly leaving in a slow, shaky sigh.

ANBU had brought them in, Iruka heard. But then again, ANBU and Jounin has been giving an extra hand here and there where they can.

Iruka had lost a lot during the course of his life. He continues to lose more in his profession, what with him letting go of children year after year, only to end up standing in their funerals far too soon for comfort. Iruka has lost count on how many young lives have ended before his, when he remembers every name that had passed through his classroom doors.

He tries not to think of his parents most nights. He also tries not to think of Mizuki either, how that had soured him, made him wrap jagged vines around himself because he didn’t want to be that vulnerable anymore, that open.

And yet, as Iruka crosses the small distance towards Kotetsu and Izumo’s bedside, the ache still pulsing in his chest at the news of their injury, he is glad that at least, these two, aren’t yet taken away from him. They had come close, according to the nurse. Izumo may or may not fully recover from the wound in his chest, even after several healing sessions. That Kotetsu’s recovery will depend on his physical therapy, that his right arm may or may not heal — there’s no telling right now.

They’re the closest friends Iruka had left, as close as he’d dare to have any after Mizuki.

When you grow up an orphan, you understand at a young age that family doesn’t stop at blood. You learn that friends can become family, too.

There had been a time where Iruka thought that all the words that had left the lips of his dearest friend was gold, that wonderfully emerald green eyes were the silver lining in any storm. But then that light faded, taking what glow it shone upon Iruka’s small, if not empty, world with it, and all that remained was the rain, each drop bring Iruka’s skin to ice.

But there are had been little pockets of memories in the storm, moments like karaoke nights, or double dates, of birthdays and clumsy drunken escapades with Kotetsu’s boisterous laugh, or Izumo insistent whines during a hangover, small memories — barely significant, even —that are merely dust in the wind in the grand picture of Mizuki’s betrayal. It is those memories that had turned into Iruka’s stars without him realizing it, sometimes hidden behind the clouds, sometimes a little to distant, but always evershining in the dark. It’s the dinners or the weekend parties, the impromptu hangouts after a shift or preparing for the Chuunin exams, the occasional missions together, things they were used to doing together when Mizuki had been Iruka’s world, things that carried on long after Mizuki’s betrayal that perhaps, without Iruka realizing it, had become the voice in the wind that took the bite of the cold away.

It is their friendship, to a degree, that has enabled Iruka to survive in the frozen wasteland the Kyuubi and later on Mizuki had left him behind in.

They say that survival adaptations are born out of necessity, like a phoenix being reborn from the ashes that brings forth a small burst of warmth, however fleeting in its moment of resurrection.

When Iruka was left with nothing, he at least had Izumo and Kotetsu. And while their schedules don’t always align, while they sometimes grow distant when missions or the Academy forces them apart, a part of Iruka knew that they had always been the grounding weight that prevented him from tipping too far off the edge. Being around them when Iruka had been at his weakest, listening to them, however inconveniencing and annoying it may be sometimes, being in their company when he didn’t ever want to be alone, had made him stronger.

Seeing them lie there, so pale, no eyerolls from Izumo or a wide grin on Kotetsu’s face, it seemed so, so wrong.

Iruka leaves quickly with a plan in mind.

He returns no more than thirty minutes later, dressed down and out of his uniform, the dirt washed form his skin, carrying a large paper bag in his arm. He stacks cans of beer by Kotetsu’s bedside, arranging some of his favorite snacks and a copy of hhis favorite celebrity magazine, something Iruka insisted he replace with a good adventure move instead, only to have Kotetsu protest and justify the entertainment value of celebrity gossip. He arranges a bag of cola flavoured jelly worms — it’ll be the first thing Kotetsu is bound to notice.

On Izumo’s side, Iruka ties down a bundle of colorful balloons, in all the colors that Izumo despises, if only because he knows it’s going to make him groan and roll his eyes, maybe even make a snide comment. Beside the balloons, Iruka arranges a deck of cards, Izumos favorite chips and the biggest bottle of orange soda he can find at the store. He tucks a sausage shaped pillow by his arm, something that he knows Izumo particularly liked to lean against. It’s a small measure of comfort, in a room that smells of chemicals and healing injuries.

These little knick-knacks injects a pop of personality into the rather white washed walls. It isn’t much, but Iruka hopes it can lift their spirits up a little bit.

(You, of all people, knows what it’s like to wake up so broken from a critical injury that you forget which way is up and which way is down. You also know what it feels like to think you’re alone. You didn’t want them to ever feel that — no one should.)

Iruka pulls out a chair, making himself comfortable by the window, bracing himself for a long wait until one of them wakes up.

Maybe it is the eerie silence or the slight shift in the air, or the too familiar scent that Iruka has been trying so hard to forget, that makes Iruka shift uncomfortably in his cramped up position in the plastic chair. Blinking into wakefulness to find an unmoving shadow standing by the foot of the bed, facing his friends makes the hair on the back of Iruka’s neck rise, awareness making his mind snap wide awake.

Iruka stares wide eyed, for a moment, hand poised by his holster, suddenly alert at being caught off guard.

Except the stranger reaches up to tug down the hood of his jacket, revealing short cropped hair, reddened eyes from lack of sleep and fatigue, pallor pallid and dark eye haunted. Tenzou’s right eye is swollen like a grape, bruised around the skin, tucked under the cover of gauze. The breath catches in Iruka’s throat, as he carefully straightens, dropping his hand from the holster, staring at the face of the man that on some days, he does well on not thinking about, but on most days, he can’t help but think about.

“Tenzou.” Iruka sits rigidly, suddenly wide awake, trying to calm the beat of his heart.

(It’s always like this, whenever they encounter each other, or when Iruka thinks he sees Tenzou from afar: heart drumming on his ribcage, his knees numb, and all the hurt hitting him like a barrage of kunais, just as the sweetest memories would wash over him like a balm,punctuated by a longing so deep that it almost always makes Iruka’s eyes prickle with salty bitterness.)

“The attackers who harmed your friends are dead.” Tenzou turns his gaze back to the beds in front of him, hands carefully slipping into the pockets of his jacket. “They’re lucky my team found them.”

“I see,” Iruka exhales, the syllables coming out shakily. “Thank you, for your assistance and coming to their aide --”

“I thought he was you.”

Iruka isn’t sure if he’s dreaming or if he’s hearing things, but the words make him carefully stand from his chair on unsteady knees, as he gauges the tension lining Tenzou’s frame. It’s there in the sharp cut of Tenzou’s jaw, some kind of nervousness, an uncertainty that Iruka doesn’t remember seeing in all the times he’s spent around the man. There’s a line between Tenzou’s brows, deep and concerned, as he stares at Izumo’s sleeping figure. He isn’t sure what to make of Tenzou’s words, what they may mean.

“I don’t understand…” Iruka admits, as he reaches for the cold metal railing of Kotetsu’s bed frame.

“When we found them, and signs of life was detected, when Izumo was turned over, I thought he was you.” Tenzou’s eyes slide shut. “I saw you bleeding on the snow, a big hole in your chest. So I went after them, the people who I thought killed you. Didn’t really think about it -- it’s hard to believe anyone would survive that kind of injury. I’ve had stronger men die from lesser. Your friends are strong. Or stubborn.”

Iruka thinks his tongue has gone numb, that it’s nothing more than a useless organ lying unmoving in his mouth as he stares at Tenzou. The words that leave dry, pale lips turns to the brightest star in Iruka’s dark sky, as hope flares in his chest, foreignly warm.

And then something cracks.

Anger swells in Iruka’s veins, sudden and hot as he tightens his hold on the bed frame. “You can’t say these things to me. You shouldn’t! I would advise you to be cautious with your words, Tenzou, because --”

“-- because you’re still  in love with me?” Tenzou turns to look at him then.

“How dare you?” Iruka snaps, voice a vicious hiss. “How dare you come here, bring this up now? Are you so entitled to your rank that you think you can just do and say as you please? I’m going to have ask you to leave!”

“I have to talk about it. With you. Iruka, I see you in _everything._ I make decisions because I think I see you. And it cannot continue this way.” Tenzou reaches into his pocket, pulling out some rolled documents.

“How is that any fault of mine?” Iruka’s voice goes up half an octave, as the heat floods his ears and cheeks, his entire frame shaking with an anger he is trying to contain. It isn’t fair to be accused this way, it isn’t fair that he is forced to have this kind of conversation, in this kind of place without any preparation or even so much of a warning. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to not see you in everything around me? To not be reminded of you? You certainly don’t see me coming up to you and accusing you in goddamn public! What the hell is wrong with you!” Iruka is forced to stop as Tenzou thrusts the documents into his hands. Iruka takes it and glares, holding it out by the light illuminating through the window.

Iruka sees forms and ANBU’s seal at the top center of the page. He leafs through the half filled forms, and gets to the third page where it lists immediate emergency contact and family members. Iruka sees his details filled, only barring the field that required his signature and shinobi registration number.

For a ground halting moment, Iruka thinks the letters are blurring.

He discovers that it is blurring because he isn’t holding the papers too steadily, the edges crumpling as he shakes his head and looks up at Tenzou. Tenzou whose eyes are soft, a little lost and far too exhausted. Tenzou, whose lips quirk to a small smile.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say with this,” Iruka admits, not because he doesn’t understand what he’s reading but because he’s not sure what this all means.

“I want you in my life.” Tenzou tips is chin towards the forms. “I am not much, Iruka. I have no name, no family, my rank means I am unknown, and I am rarely in the village as it is. I don’t even know where I’m from. But I can offer loyalty, companionship, whatever I own, maybe some knowledge, children too, if you want…” Iruka shakes his head, taking a step back and holding up a hand u TIL his back bumps into the wall. “I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to give you the world, because that’s what’s you deserve if not more, if you sign.”

“Are you fucking proposing to me in the middle of intensive care?” Iruka can’t keep the shock from coloring his voice.

“Umino is a good name…” Tenzou’s voice come out soft, barely above a whisper, as he turns his face away, tucking his hands back into his jacket pocket. “My address is on the forms. You’ll know where to find me. Hokage-sama is keeping me in the village for a while. So I’ll be around…”

Iruka helplessly stares at the forms in his hands, completely caught off guard. “What if I say no?”

For a brief moment, Iruka thinks he sees something that looks a little too much like fear flash in Tenzou’s visible eye. It is quickly tucked under the shadow of Tenzou’s hood, as slender fingers reach back to tug the hood further down over his forehead. “You were never afraid to put me in my place before. I don’t see a reason why that should change.”

Iruka’s lungs doesn’t seem to remember how to function, the breath wedged like a ball of needles somewhere in his throat. Tenzou takes Iruka’s silence as his queue to leave, footsteps silent as he turns to head towards the door.

“Do you miss me?” Iruka suddenly asks, lips trembling as the syllables tumble past of his lips without any control.

Tenzou turns to look over his shoulder, and for a moment, Iruka sees teeth peek out from between dried, cracked lips.

And just like that, it’s as if it was only yesterday. As if the past almost six months of emptiness, of pointless fucks and empty warmth didn’t exist.

“ _Yes_ …” Tenzou whispers.

The syllable hangs in the air, as does the distant scent of cedar trees and musky amber, even when Tenzou disappear in a blink of an eye.

  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLA BLA BLA CHEESE BLA BLA BLA MORE CHEESE.
> 
> I AM NOT SURPRISED.
> 
> Also, Tenzou darling, Iruka is not like a market stall that your barter shit with. Like you can’t just say hey I’ve got some gooseberries and cabbages, give me some of them oranges and strawberries~
> 
> I need to sleep. Blah

**Author's Note:**

> Not a very popular pairing but it is my guilt pleasure. Let me know what you think~!


End file.
